


all the roads (we have to walk are winding)

by andsmile



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Varchie!Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsmile/pseuds/andsmile
Summary: Veronica Lodge's lavish lifestyle changes completely when she meets someone at a deli shop and assures him that she has everything she needs. The next morning, she wakes up in the arms of Archie Andrews, her high school sweetheart who broke her heart a decade ago, and to the horrifying discovery that her former life no longer exists.Or, an archieronnie!AU based on early 00's movie, "The Family Man."





	1. the road less travelled

His lips were so delicate when they trapped hers in the gentlest kiss he had ever given her. His hands were resting on her waist, so chaste, like it was the first time he was ever touching her. Under the mistletoe, under the controlled movement of his fingertips pressing into her skin and the softness of his green sweater, she could feel the strength of his heartbeat.

Just like a movie, a boy and a girl fell in love.

Just like a movie, snow fell from the skies.

(Just like a movie, it ended.)

 

 

 

 

**13 YEARS LATER**

“I had a great time.”

Veronica Lodge turns under her duvet, stretching. Opening her brown eyes, she blinks a couple of times to get used to the daylight coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. From where she’s laying down, she can see the silhouette of a man getting dressed.

“What?” she asks lazily.

“I said I had a great time,” he says, wearing his best Wall Street smile. Veronica smiles too, especially when he comes closer to the bed, reaching out to touch her ankle under the covers. “We should do it again tonight.”

Veronica giggles, relishing the soft hands going up her calf. “ _Tonight_ is Christmas Eve, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart_ chuckles, hand on her knee now. “That’s fine by me. We can drink eggnog,” Veronica bites on her lower lip as she stares at his sweet face, brown hair falling on his honey-colored eyes. He leans in to kiss her. “I’ll even find you a mistletoe…”

She places a hand on his cheek. “Please, don’t,” she says, pushing him away a little. “I had a lot of fun too, but I think you should spend some time with your family. We can resume activities post-holiday season.”

He sighs, looking a little forlorn. In the scrutiny of daylight, rumpled and semi-naked, _Sweetheart_ looks a lot younger than he did at the bar last night. “Do you promise to call?”

Veronica almost laughs. Poor, romantic soul. She wonders, for a minute, if crushing his expectations at such a sensitive time like the holidays would categorize her as a soulless person. Caressing his cheek, for good measure, she decides that she doesn’t care. “If I remember. Now, be gone. I have to get ready for work.”

 

 

 

 

She only gets out of bed when Sweetheart leaves. Having him around would certainly disrupt her morning routine, something she’d been perfecting throughout the years.

It starts with a tall glass of cold water and pressing the play button on her phone, making music filter through the speakers carefully placed around her penthouse. Veronica sings along to pop tunes and even French classics, as she picks out the outfit for her day and showers. Today’s choice is a selection of old boleros.

Doing her makeup is therapeutic and something she spends a great portion of her morning on: filling her brows, curling her eyelashes, perfecting her eyeliner, sharpening her cheekbones with contouring, and, finally, choosing the perfect lip shade to face the day.

Not that she requires makeup or wavy hair or heels to be beautiful — she never did, and women shouldn’t feel like they _need_ any of this stuff, anyway — but in a world full of men trying to take her down at every step she takes, she has learned to stand with her chin up high and to use each and every weapon she possesses. And that includes her Louboutins.

Breakfast starts when the music goes off and business starts — she makes a Nespresso while checking for any absurdly important messages from her personal assistant; eats fruit and porridge while making _that_ phone call to China before they shut down their activities for the day; brushes her teeth, and finally applies her lipstick while checking the stock market, which always, inevitably, gives her a headache.

But not today.

“Elio,” Veronica calls her assistant, Elio Grande, putting him on speaker as she finishes touching up her lipstick. “MedTech shares are lower than fifty-two percent. We need to go in with the deal _today_. Call for the board meeting.”

“Today is Christmas Eve, Veronica. I don’t know if—”

“Elio. _Twelve billion dollars_. If we seal this deal, every day will be Christmas Eve. Now, call the board. I want everyone that matters at the meeting table in one hour and decent coffee for everybody.”

“They’ll be there, Lodge.”

Veronica rolls her eyes, putting her phone and lipstick in her purse. She knows that Elio only calls her Lodge (or even _Mini-Hiram_ , when he’s being particularly obnoxious) when he thinks she’s being too absurd about something, but she’s past caring — truth is, Elio should be grateful to hold such a great position in Lodge and Associates Investment House, after the dismantling of what was, once, Lodge Industries.

God only knows how hard she had to work to make her name mean something again.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Lodge,” the doorman greets her, a friendly nod of his head. Tony is gentle and makes her think of Smithers. Veronica smiles, forgetting her phone for a second. “The young gentleman that left your penthouse earlier left his phone number with me. Perhaps you might want it?”

Veronica chuckles. “Save it with the others, Tony. I might ask for it on a rainy day. Merry Christmas yourself. Can you tell someone to bring up my car? I feel like driving today. The streets are dry.”

“As you wish, Miss.”

 

 

 

 

The blue Maserati races through Central Park as she exits her condo on Park Avenue. It’s a clear day, despite the cold and the weather forecast promising a white Christmas for Manhattan.

Traffic isn’t that bad from the Upper East Side heading down to the Financial District. Veronica screeches her car to a halt in front of a building, turning the heads of some passers — as usual, people are shocked once they see that the one behind the wheel is a woman.

“Miss Lodge,” the security guard greets when she throws him the keys of the Maserati, wishing him a Merry Christmas, and marches towards the front hall.

Elio is waiting for her as soon as the elevator doors open to the floor — looking clean and good as always, a tablet in his hand. “Buenos días, boss. Everyone should be here in half an hour. Not everyone is pleased to be here in half an hour.”

“They’ll get over it once they open my Christmas gift for them this year, and you know why, Elio?” Veronica raises her eyebrows. Elio frowns, a bit curious. “Because my gift comes with ten zeros at the end. Mr. Campbell is in Chamonix with his wife and kids, and he’s willing to sign the contract by December 26th if I go to France in person to seal the deal.”

Elio’s mouth hangs open. It’s kind of _cute_ that people still underestimate her, especially before noon. “I’ll book a flight.”

 

 

 

 

Much later in the day, Veronica sits behind her desk, closing her eyes for a bit. She takes in a couple of deep breaths, letting the silence surround her for a minute. It’s been a long day of work, filled with meetings and stressful conversations, but everything is going according to plan.

She opens her eyes, sipping on some water as she wonders what her next task is — or if she even has one. On her desk, there’s an old picture of her with her parents, right after they moved back to New York from Riverdale, their big _starting over_. It was the last picture they ever took as a family.

From time to time, Veronica asks herself if she should have this picture on her desk, such a sentimental token of her past, but if anything, it’s a reminder of how things can change — of how time doesn’t stop for you to fix whatever’s broken. You’re always left to fend for yourself, anyway.

A knock on her door brings her back to the present. It’s Elio, who’s probably the last man standing in the office at this hour — it says eight-thirty on her watch. “Your mom wasn’t really pleased to hear you canceled on Christmas.”

Veronica chuckles. “I was just looking for an excuse to bail, anyways. Listen, I have a list of sixty things I want to do and spending the holidays with my mom and her _boytoy_ is number sixty-one.”

“When will you forgive your mother for being weak?” Elio sits on the corner of the desk. Veronica doesn’t really appreciate when he does that but decides to bite her tongue.

“I would never condemn my mom for finding a hot _beau_ after Daddy’s passing, even if he was our trusty driver,” Veronica says, leaning back on her chair a bit and sighing. “But the fact that she and Andre had been sleeping together even _before_ Daddy’s passing never sat quite well with me, I’ll give you that.”

Elio laughs. “You’re free now. You’ll spend Christmas flying first class and then a couple of days in France.” He hops off the desk. “Okay, so before we go, unimportant calls of the day.” He takes a couple of crumpled post-its from his pocket. “Jenna from that NGO wanted to speak with you and thank you personally for the generous donation. Florence also called.”

Veronica points at Elio with a pen. “Oh, that’s _not_ unimportant. My dresses are ready!”

“Sure. I’ll send someone to pick them up. And a guy named Archie Andrews wants to talk to you? His assistant said you could call after eight.”

Veronica stops fumbling with the pen, reeling back. “Archie Andrews?”

“I know, right? I tried to find him amongst our contacts, but there’s no one with…”

“No.” She interrupts Elio. There’s a crease between her eyebrows and a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she’d been walking down the stairs and suddenly missed a step. “Archie Andrews was my high school boyfriend. What the… You said his _assistant_ called?”

“Yes,” Elio says. “You, a _boyfriend_? For real?”

“I still lived in that small town upstate. I was trying new things. I don’t know. Trying to be a better person.” Veronica sighs, her mind wandering down memory lane. She can form a tall, red-haired figure in her mind, but over a decade later, it's hard to remember the details of his face. “Bit me right back in the ass, as I knew it would. Things got super ugly between us. He was my first and, mercifully, last serious relationship.”

“You just gave up on love because some bloke named Archie Andrews broke your heart back in sophomore year?”

Veronica’s gaze is drawn to the picture on her desk, her father’s face, his hand on her shoulder. It’s enough to snap her out of it. She chuckles. “I just took the road less traveled, Elio,” she says and then frowns when she notices her assistant reaching out for the phone and starting to dial the numbers written down on the crumpled post-it. “What are you doing?”

“Calling the guy.”

Veronica shakes her head. “No.”

“What?” Elio stops but then hangs up, making a face. “You two lived some crazy love story years ago, he reaches out and you don’t want to talk to him? Aren’t you even curious?”

“ _Please_ ,” Veronica rolls her eyes. “It’s Christmas Eve. An old flame calling you on Christmas Eve? It’s probably a fit of nostalgia. His wife dumped him, and he’s drunk. Let’s call the one that got away? That kind of thing.”

Elio looks slightly disappointed.

“Don’t start. If you want romance, go home and watch some Lifetime movie. I have other things to worry about, like the multi-billion dollar deal in my hands right now.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind, the assistant said you can find him after eight, and, you know, it’s after eight.” Elio winks, leaving the post-it with the telephone number on her desk. He wishes her a Merry Christmas before leaving her alone with the small piece of paper staring at her like a ghost.

Veronica takes a deep breath and throws the post-it in the trash.

 

 

 

 

Much later that evening, Veronica exits the elevator, her high heels cackling against the marble floor of the empty lobby. The security guard, who sits watching the monitors, raises his head at the sound.  
  
“Miss Lodge! Why didn’t you call down? I would’ve had someone get your car.”  
  
Veronica looks outside. The promised snow has begun to fall, and the street looks very quiet as it gets painted white, little by little. Something happens somewhere in the space between her heart and her stomach, and she shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it, Frank. I think I might walk home.”  
  
“Nice night for it. I’ll have Joe send your car home tomorrow, then. Merry Christmas, Miss.”  
  
“Merry Christmas to you, Frank.”  
  
Veronica puts on a pair of soft, leather gloves and a scarf around her neck, heading out into the crisp, night air. The snowflakes melt against her warm cheeks, tickling her, making her smile. She hums one of the boleros she was listening to this morning, something her parents used to dance to when she was very little, and they seemed very much in love.  
  
_bésame, bésame mucho… como se fuera esta noche la ultima vez…_  
  
She’s walking down the nearly empty streets, her hands inside her trench coat pockets, watching the windows of the closed shops along the way.

It was snowing just like this in Riverdale, that Christmas morning in December, so many years ago. She remembers the weight of his necklace hanging from her neck. A&V Forever, he had engraved on the locket. She remembers how holding it in her hands was like holding her own heart and how suddenly it felt so _right_ , handing it to him, giving it away.  
  
She remembers the smile on his face when he saw her on his porch. She remembers how it all cracked a couple of months later, how it all fell apart — how the heart she gave him was returned all battered and bruised and how she had to spend years fixing it.  
  
Honestly, who did he think he was, asking _her_ to _call_ him?  
  
There’s an open deli shop at the end of the block. Veronica crosses the street and heads towards it, without thinking it through. She said she’d quit it, but it’s been a long day.

The deli shop is brightly lit. There’s only Mr. Wong (if the deli name says something about it) behind the counter, a woman with a baby in her arms shopping for milk, and a drunk department store Santa looking for something at the liquor display. Veronica gets closer to the cashier.  
  
“Lucky Strikes?” she asks, opening her purse.  
  
The bell at the door chimes, announcing another customer. Veronica turns her head as Mr. Wong gets her cigarettes and asks if she wants the blue or the red pack. The man who just walked in is a good-looking Latino, with a strong jawline and that sleek-back hair Mexican heartthrobs normally rock.  
  
“Red,” she answers the cashier. The guy comes closer to the counter too, stopping right next to her.

“You do the lotto here, right?” the man asks, and Mr. Wong creases his eyebrows, stopping midway as he was reaching to get Veronica’s pack of cigarettes. He nods. “Cool, because I got a winner! Paper thin but good as gold.”  
  
The deli shop owner stops what he’s doing and turns to the hottie. Veronica sighs, impatient. “You got a winning ticket?” Mr. Wong asks.  
  
“Yep. 06. 14. 18. 48. Four numbers, right there. That’s two hundred and thirty-eight dollars! Merry Christmas and shit!”  
  
Mr. Wong barely looks at the ticket that’s been handed to him. “This ticket ain’t good. You drew on the lines with the pen.”  
  
“What are you talking about? Just look at the ticket, _esé_!”  
  
“I heard about this scam! You drew on the lines with the pen!” Mr. Wong almost yells and throws the ticket back. The baby in the woman’s arm starts to wail, and Veronica feels her heart start to race just a little faster — somehow, this quiet Christmas Eve just started to feel not so quiet.  
  
“You keep looking at me and you don’t look at the ticket!”  
  
“Get out of here! Next customer!”

She feels her cheeks a little hot. “I was the _previous_ customer, actual—”  
  
Hottie — though, perhaps he needs a new name — interrupts her when he slams his fist against the counter, startling everyone. The drunk Santa starts to walk in their direction, bottle of liquor in his hand, and _shit_ , this is starting to get out of control. “Check the fucking numbers, you stupid —”  
  
“Get the hell out, _wetback_ , or I’ll call 911!”  
  
_Wetback_?! Veronica’s mouth hangs open. She’s unsure of what to do — leave or call the police herself or stop the drunk Santa from smashing that bottle against the guy’s head — but then he reaches inside his leather jacket. Her heart stops when she sees it — a gun. A silver 38, shining in his hand, being shoved into Mr. Wong’s face.  
  
“I’ll give you a reason to call 911! Now, look at the fucking ticket!”  
  
Veronica doesn’t really _think_ — or maybe she does. But something, some stupid bravery, or fear, or a throwback from her past tightens her chest, and she gets in between the counter and the guy, right in front of Mr. Wong so the gun is now pointed at her. The woman with the baby screams in horror.

“Okay, _cálmate!_ ” she says. He’s not so tall, but she’s still glad to be wearing her high heeled boots. He frowns, curious, the gun pointed at her forehead. _Fuck_ , she thinks. “How much did you win? Two hundred and what?”  
  
“Stupid-ass baby girl in leather pants and thousand-dollar boots, it’s collateral damage. That’s what you wanna hear on the news?!” he asks, narrowing his brown eyes. “Do you wanna die?!”  
  
Veronica holds her breath. If she tries to knee his groin, she’ll get her head split open, and Mr. Wong will get her brain splattered all over his counter. That’s not the kind of Christmas red anyone is after. She stares back at him, sustaining his gaze. “I’m not a _baby girl_. I’m a businesswoman. I’d like to buy your ticket. How much is it worth?”

“Two hundred and thirty-eight dollars.”  
  
“I’m gonna reach inside my bag so I can give you three hundred dollars. You’re gonna keep this gun away and buy me a pack of Lucky Strike Red and keep the change. Are we all set?”  
  
There’s a moment where Veronica doesn’t know if her words got to him. But throughout her young life, she’s seen what real evil looks like, and this isn't it — this guy is just a little lost. He takes a step back and puts the gun inside his jacket, raising both his hands. She exhales heavily and reaches inside her bag to take out three one-hundred-dollar bills. Everyone at the store watches, silent, — except for the baby — and confused, as she hands him the money.  
  
“Give him the cigarettes, sir,” Veronica says to the store owner, running her gloved hand through her hair. Mr. Wong says nothing, just get her the pack and quickly gives the guy the change.  
  
“Ticket was good, esé. You too had your chance.” He shrugs, getting the cigarettes and the money. “C’mon, Veronica. Let’s get out of here.”  
  
She frowns deeply, following him out of the deli. Outside is so much darker — her heart is racing, and she wonders if what just happened was real.

 

 

 

 

“How do you know my name is Veronica?!” she asks. This is all really weird.  
  
“I call all you pretty girls _Veronica_ ,” he says, smiling charmingly. She notices he’s opened the pack of cigarettes and is serving himself one. “Sorry for saying you were _stupid_. I guess you are really smart, after all.”

Veronica falls into step with him. A part of her knows that this guy obviously knows her name for other reasons. She also knows he has a gun, and that she shouldn’t be walking with him. He’s probably leading her into a trap. She has too much money. She can’t just walk around with strangers who have guns. Yet…

“You look relaxed for a girl who just had a gun pointed at her head,” he mentions, the cigarette hanging from his lips, reaching inside the jacket again. He doesn’t pull out the gun, just a lighter.  
  
“There’s no way I was going to die in a deli shop.” Veronica watches as he lights up the cigarette. He hands the pack and the lighter to her. Folded over the pack, there’s the infamous lottery ticket that started it all. It’s probably a fake one, but she’s not going to check. “I just had a gut feeling that you wouldn’t hurt me.”  
  
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” he says, blowing out smoke. She nods. “So, you’re telling me that you’ve got a gun to your head, and you didn’t think for one second that maybe, just maybe, you should’ve taken a different path? Maybe not say anything? Maybe not stop to buy cigs?”  
  
“I don’t do that,” Veronica says, lighting up her cigarette. It fills her lungs with toxic smoke. She knows it’s something harmful, but it’s a bad habit she picked up when Hiram passed away. “That’s not for me.”  
  
“Okay, Veronica. Nice doing business with you.”

He starts walking a little faster, a bounce in his step. Veronica almost lets him walk away. “Hey!” she calls, still very much intrigued. He turns around. “What do you want, carrying this gun around, anyway? You’re just going to do something you’ll regret.”  
  
“Thought you didn’t believe in regrets,” he says. Veronica chuckles.  
  
“I’m just saying that you look like a smart guy. There must be programs out there, opportunities… I don’t know. If you want, my company donates a lot of cash to some NGOs that…”  
  
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Are you trying to save me?” he asks, half-frowning, half-laughing. Veronica almost rolls her eyes. “Do you think I need saving?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she shrugs, taking another drag. “Everyone needs something.”  
  
“Yeah? What do you need?”  
  
“Me?” She frowns.  
  
“You just said _everyone_ needs something, so what do _you_ need?”  
  
Veronica looks down for a moment, smoke flying in her eyes. She wonders what’s even going on — she’s suddenly thinking again about that moment on the porch, over a decade ago, her cold hands around his warm neck. _I know that I need goodness in my life,_ she hears her own younger voice echoing inside her brain. _I need_ you _in my life._ Sighing, and pushing the memory away, she looks up at the guy.

“I’ve got everything I need.”

“Wow. It must be great to be you.”  
  
“I’m not talking about— Listen, I’m just saying that with honest hard work and--”  
  
He smiles a little, shaking his head. “I have seen enough. Merry Christmas, Veronica.”

The guy really does walk away this time, leaving her puzzled and alone with her cigarettes. He turns around at the corner and disappears.

 

 

 

 

Veronica calls a Lyft home after all. She feels incredibly tired, and her muscles are cold and sore. There are dozens of missed calls on her phone — mostly from Hermione — and messages from Elio, giving her the flight details for tomorrow.

She takes off her clothes, washes her face, and brushes her teeth. She wishes she had the energy for a bath and for packing, but she just feels drained. She gets under the covers, turning around to hold her pillow, and falls asleep almost instantly, hoping that she’s not disturbed by any dreams.

 

 

 

 

Veronica stirs comfortably. Her pillow is warm and soft under her cheeks. She takes in a deep breath, smiling pleasantly — she loves waking up feeling well-rested, and she needed it, since she has a flight to catch in a few hours.  
  
Opening her eyes changes everything.  
  
She’s not holding her pillow. Her head is resting on someone’s chest, and his arm is heavy on her waist. He’s breathing quietly, sound asleep. Veronica feels confused and then panics — she remembers going home and falling asleep alone. Did she call some disposable lay in the middle of the night? Did that weird guy do something and —  
  
She freezes. She’s too scared to look up and see who she’s sleeping with. She’s too scared to look around the room. She —  
  
“Mmm, five more minutes, Ronnie,” the man says in a sleepy voice. Veronica’s heart skips a beat. He stirs, pulling her closer to him. She knows that voice. No one has called her Ronnie, ever since she’s sixteen. She’d also recognize those abs anywhere. _What the fuck_ is she doing, laying in Archie Andrews’ arms?! “It’s Christmas…”

Option one: she’s dreaming. No, this is actually a _nightmare_. She looks up, trying not to startle him, and _yes_ , it is him — older, with scruff on his jawline, his red hair all tousled against the pillow. Veronica’s heart _hurts_.  
  
Option two: _someway_ , somehow, she got drunk to the point of no return, found his number back at her office, called him in the middle of the night — _oh, my God_ — and ended up here. She looks around, her heart still _hurting_ , to figure out where _here_ is.  
  
It’s Fred Andrews’s old room with its charming little bay window, but it looks different — cramped and lived in, clothes and toys all strewn about, family photos on the dresser. A _dresser_ , not a walk-in closet?  
  
Option three: _what the fuck?_

She _jumps_ when the door burst open. A little girl, who’s about six, walks into the room carrying a boy who might be just a little older than one. They’re both wearing Christmas-themed pajamas, and she can barely carry him. _“Jingle bells! Batman smells! Robin laid an egg! Lalala, lalala!”_ the little girl sings.  
  
Archie chuckles, and let’s go of her, sitting up. “Oh, who’s here?” he asks, affectionately. The smile on his face is warm, and he doesn’t look uncomfortable with any of this — he takes the smaller kid into his arms, and the little girl gets in bed with them as if she does it every morning. She starts to jump.  
  
“Rise and shine!” She smiles, her braids flying around her face. Veronica probably can’t hide the confusion on her face. Archie is just cuddling the little boy, who’s patting on his face with his tiny hands, and this whole scene is so —  
  
A dog — who looks exactly like Vegas — comes trotting into the room, attracted by the noise, barking and faithfully jumping on the bed too. It’s wearing a red bow around its neck. “Nevada!” Archie laughs, when the labrador tries to lick the little boy. “Get down!”  
  
The dog obviously doesn’t listen to him.  
  
“Daddy, it’s time to open presents!” the girl says, full of energy. _Daddy?_ Veronica feels like she’s going to pass out at any second. “C’mon! Mami! Wake up, it’s Christmas!”

 _Mami_.  
  
The little girl looked at her and said _Mami_.  
  
That’s it. Veronica gets out of bed, stumbling over her shoes. It’s not the Louboutin boots she was wearing the day before — they’re nice, _leather_ , but no red soles. She glances at the bed. Fred Andrews’ bed. It’s not a king-size; it’s not even a _queen-size_. The little girl, the baby, Archie, Nevada, they’re all cramped on it like there’s nothing wrong in the world.  
  
This is a nightmare. This is definitely a nightmare. She doesn’t know what to do to wake up. She’s wearing a silky nightgown and that’s _not_ what she was wearing when she went to bed last night. Veronica looks around, quickly grabbing a robe off a chair and throwing it on.  
  
She takes her boots and it’s about to get out of this room, _running_ , when Archie reaches out for her hand. “Ronnie?”

Veronica turns around, by instinct. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, bringing her closer. Maybe that’s it. Maybe with eye contact, she’ll wake up. Maybe with eye contact, he’ll scream and realize that she’s not supposed to be there too.  
  
But Archie just smiles at her softly, still groggy from sleep, and his thumb flicks over her wrist, caressing her skin. For a second, she’s afraid that he’s going to kiss her. “Coffee,” he says, simply, letting her go.

 

 

 

 

Maybe she needs to leave the house in order to wake up. That’s logical. She runs down the stairs — the Andrews house is not unknown. It’s been slightly redecorated here and there, but she doesn’t pay any attention to that.  
  
When she reaches the living room, a Christmas tree sits in the middle of the mess, and there’s a bevy of gift underneath it, four red stockings over the fireplace. She can still hear the bed squeaking upstairs, the little girl’s laughter, and Archie’s baby voice as he asks _What is this dog doing on the bed?  
_  
Veronica sees a coat by the door. She quickly slips it and the boots on, when she hears the sound of a key turning in the door. She stops, looking at the front door, not sure of what to do, when it swings open.  
  
Mary Andrews walks in, her arms laden with wrapped gifts. She looks older, her hair with a few streaks of silver, and she’s wearing glasses. She does not seem surprised to see Veronica. “Sweetie! Merry Christmas! I came as early as I could with the snow, and all…”  
  
She hugs Veronica the best she can with an armful of gifts. “I see.” It’s all she can say, her brain still plotting her escape.  
  
“Where are my grandchildren?” She ignores Veronica’s terror and places the gifts under the tree. “This place is quite messy. _Charlie! Artie!_ Grandma’s here!”  
  
_Charlie. Artie._ That’s the kid’s names? This has way too many details for something that isn’t real. Where is her phone? Mary starts going up the stairs unceremoniously, and Veronica takes the opportunity to dash out the door, _so sure_ that stepping outside is what she needs to get out of this mess.

But all she gets is a huff of cold air. Elm Street is covered with white snow, and it’s like she stepped back in time. Veronica shakes her head, looking around. _Where is her phone?!_ Where is her _car_?!  
  
In front of Archie’s garage, there’s a minivan parked. She supposes she has no time to look for her Maserati — it’s probably still at the company, anyway, because this is all a big, fat joke. She goes back inside for a minute just to grab the car keys that she spotted before, and darts back outside.  
  
If leaving the house didn’t work, getting to her _actual_ home will. Veronica races to the blue Dodge minivan sitting in the driveway. It takes a long time to start, and she’s not even sure she knows how to drive any car that doesn’t run faster than a racehorse — especially one with a baby car seat in the backseat — but she’ll have to.

 

 

 

 

It’s almost a two-hour drive from Riverdale to New York City. She needs to _stop_ to pee and drink water, and you’re not supposed to have this kind of necessities in dreams. She does get there eventually — the road is _weirdly_ empty, and so are the streets of Manhattan.  
  
Veronica is tired and cranky when she pulls over in front of her building in Park Avenue. Tony, the doorman, and his familiar face, is a sight for sore eyes. “Tony, _thank God,_ ” she says, leaping out the minivan. She’s aware that she’s still wearing a robe under her trench coat and cheap boots.  
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Entrance is for residents and guests only.”  
  
Veronica chuckles. “What are you talking about? It’s me, Veronica Lodge. Penthouse. Ring any bells?”

He doesn’t move.  
  
“You keep all my booty call numbers in a drawer in case I ever need them?” she tries. Tony frowns, extremely disconcerted, and Veronica almost rolls her eyes at his false moralism.  
  
“If you need any help, Miss…”  
  
“Oh, _Madre de Dios,_ I don’t need any help. I need to go to my home!” She sighs. “You know what, _fine_. I’ll go to my office, and I’ll get the manager to call you and tell you who I am before he fires you. I am _tired_ of this fucking Christmas joke that you all decided to be a part of!”  
  
Frustrated, she turns and goes back to the minivan. She takes in some deep breaths before trying to start the car again. Veronica feels Tony’s eyes on her as she tries and tries to get the fucking Dodge to work — she can’t wait to go back and _screech_ her Maserati right under his nose.  
  
Eventually, the car starts, and she can drive away — even if not too spectacularly — towards the company’s building. She pulls over right in front of it and runs up the stairs, bursting through the revolving doors.  
  
Frank, the security guard, is right where she left him yesterday, behind the desk. “Frank!” she calls. He looks confused when he sees her. “You are not going to _believe_ what’s happening to me today. Is Elio here?”  
  
“Miss, the building is closed today. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”  
  
Veronica’s head falls. “Frank. I don’t want to remind you that I’m Veronica Lodge, president of the company.”  
  
“Look, sweetheart, I don’t care if you’re Madonna. It’s Christmas, and as I told you, the building is closed,” he says very calmly but stands up behind the desk.  
  
“And like I told you, I am _Veronica Lodge_. Veronica **Lodge** ,” she raises the tone of her voice. Frank keeps staring at her as if she’s crazy. “As in the _Lodge and Associates_ Lodge, Frank.”  
  
“There is no Lodge and Associates in this building, Miss.” Frank frowns. Veronica heaves out a breath. This is unbelievable. She walks towards the elevator, and Frank runs after her. She’s about to point at the Lodge and Associates name at the big metal board next to the doors, but then, she stops.  
  
**_Grande and Associates Investment House_** it says, right where her company is supposed to be. And, right under it, **_President: Elio Grande._**  
  
She looks at Frank, and then back to the building directory. The security guard is now looking at her like he pities her, and she— How can this be happening? This is what she worked for her whole life. It can’t really _disappear_ like that.  
  
Veronica feels like she needs air. She murmurs something and gets out of the building like a zombie. She feels desolate. If this is _really_ a nightmare, she’d like to wake up from it now. She asks God to wake her up.

She’s crossing the street, ignoring the minivan, when a thought crosses her mind. Maybe she did die in that deli shop yesterday, and this is her personal hell. Veronica can’t even process her own idea when she hears it — the sound of its wheels accelerating. She looks over her shoulder and sees it, then, coming in her direction.

Her blue Maserati.  
  
It reaches her very quickly, stopping inches from her. Veronica’s heart jumps. She turns to see the driver, and it’s— “Be careful! You don’t want to end up dead!”  
  
It’s the Hottie. The Latino from the deli shop last night. He’s behind the steering wheel of Veronica’s car, and he’s wearing a nice, tailored suit, nothing like the ragged, leather jacket from last night.  
  
Veronica moves over to the passenger window in shock and starts slamming against it with her palms until he rolls it down.  
  
“Hola, Veronica.”  
  
“That’s _my car_! You _stole_ my car!”  
  
“Not really, honey. It’s not your car. Not right now, anyway,” he says, smiling in the same charming way. She hates everything about him. “I know everything is really bizarre right now, but just hop in. I’ll explain everything to you.”

Veronica hesitates. This makes no fucking sense, but he is the only person who seems to recognize her and to acknowledge that, well, this makes no fucking sense. _Whatever_ , she thinks, getting into the passenger seat of her car and closing the door.  
  
He smiles, joyfully driving off in a burst of acceleration. Veronica puts on the seatbelt. Apparently, she _isn’t_ dead. “What the hell is happening to me?!”  
  
She didn’t want to, but she’s _panicking_. For real. Her breathing is short, and her eyes are prickling with tears. It’s been _years_ since she’s had a panic attack. It hasn’t happened ever since her father died.  
  
“Oh, _honey_ , calm down. Try to take some deep breaths,” he says, sounding sweeter than he should. She does try, _stupid_ tears rolling down her face. She hates being emotional. “Listen, my name, in _this_ universe, is Fangs Fogarty. You’re going to have to remember that.”  
  
“What did you do to me?” She dries her tears ferociously. Fangs just keeps driving around the streets that are, slowly, being filled again.  
  
“I didn’t do anything. You brought this upon yourself.”  
  
“Brought this upon myself?! I didn’t do anything! I tried to help you!”  
  
“No? C’mon, Veronica. _I’ve got everything I need_ ,” he mimics her, using a slightly higher voice. Veronica swallows hard, trying to control her breathing. “ _I never regret anything_ …”  
  
“Just because I’m pretentious you got me stuck into a permanent acid trip?!”  
  
Fangs chuckles. “What you did in that store, last night? That really moved me. Brave princess. Everyone else sees their lives pass in front of their eyes, but you just wanted to make a business deal… That shit was inspiring, Veronica. I was proud to be assigned to you.”  
  
“Assigned to me?! To do _what_?!” Veronica sniffles. She feels that her breathing is coming back to normal, and now she just wants to punch his pretty face. “I want my goddamn life back!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Veronica. But, like I said yesterday, I’ve seen enough. This is what you need.” He says, shrugging, “You’re going to experience a _glimpse_.”  
  
“A glimpse?!” She frowns. “A glimpse of _what_?! What glimpse?!”  
  
“Look, eventually, everyone gets one. Some take a couple of seconds. Some take a little longer.”  
  
Veronica hides her face in her hands, annoyed. “I asked a direct question, _Fangs_. A glimpse of _what_?!”  
  
“Figure it out, honey. You’ve got plenty of time.”  
  
“I don’t have plenty of time. I’m in the middle of an important deal. I have to catch a flight in, I don’t know, _three hours._ So, tell me, what is it going to take for you to give me my life back?! How much money are we talking?”  
  
Fangs creases his eyebrows. “Does it look like I need your money? I don’t make the rules. I just make you follow them. And one of the rules is that you can’t get your life back because _this_ is your life until you figure it out.” He stops the car, suddenly. Veronica realizes they’re right back where they started, in front of the company’s building. The minivan is right where she parked it. “Don’t worry about your flight or your deal.”  
  
“So, you suggest I go back to that _house_ with my ex-boyfriend and his kids, his dog, and his mother?!”  
  
“Figure it out, Veronica,” Fangs says, reaching over her to open the passenger’s door. “I can’t stay any longer. I’ll show up when the time is right.”  
  
“Oh, no, no, no,” she closes the door again. “You’re not going to leave me alone in this situation that _you_ put me.”  
  
Fangs sighs. “You’re right. You know what, I’ll tell you everything,” he says, driving a little further so he can park in front of the minivan. “But not here. Let’s walk a little and get some air, maybe have another smoke? Your pack is in the glove compartment.”  
  
Veronica glances over at him, and he nods. She opens the glove compartment and finds all the things she thought she left in her penthouse the night before — the pack of cigarettes, two already smoked, the lighter he forgot, and the folded lottery ticket.  
  
He opens his door. She unbuckles her seatbelt then and hops out of the car, but then realizes that this was a stupid move when his door slams back shut.

The Maserati takes off with a blast.  
  
_Son of a bitch,_ Veronica thinks, standings there as she listens to the sound of the shifting gears disappearing.  
  
The wind whips up, and Veronica shivers. She looks at her company’s building, then at the pack of cigarettes in her hands, and, finally, at the minivan.

 

 

 

 

She barely pulls over in front of the Andrews’s house, a headache pounding behind her eyes, her stomach growling, when her heart jumps. There’s someone knocking on her window. Veronica rolls it down, startled.  
  
“… _Betty_?!” She barely hears her own voice. Betty looks as beautiful as ever, her hair half-up. Veronica doesn’t really know what to do at the sight of her high school best friend. She does not, however, seem very friendly.  
  
“Do you have any idea how _worried_ everyone is?! How come you take off on Christmas morning without taking your phone?! I’m pretty sure Archie is down at the police station, right now—”  
  
Veronica opens her mouth but ends up gasping for air. Betty’s expression immediately shifts from hostile to concerned. “I don’t feel so good,” Veronica says, pressing a hand to her eyes.  
  
“Okay,” Betty says, opening the car’s door, and barely steering Veronica out of the driver’s seat. “C’mon, V. Archie can’t see you like this, c’mon. I promise I won’t call him yet.”

Betty wraps an arm around her shoulder and walks her to the Cooper’s house, which hasn’t changed at all since their teenage years. “I found V!” she announces when they are already going up the stairs. Veronica glances into the living room — Hal, Alice, and Polly are sitting on the couches. She also sees a good-looking stranger, dark-haired and dark-skinned, with Arabic features, immediately getting up and walking towards the stairs. He looks very much concerned, but Betty shakes her head firmly. “She’s okay, Sayid. We’ll just have a chat, and then I’ll call Archie,” she says.  
  
“Okay. Hey, stranger!” The Sayid guy stops and smiles at her like they’re friends. Veronica feels sick. Betty takes them up to her pink childhood bedroom. Different from the house next door, that apparently is now _Archie’s_ , Betty’s parents still seem to be living in this one.  
  
“What happened, V?” Betty sits her down and touches her hair, very patiently. “You’re still in your pajamas.”  
  
Veronica looks at her. In _real life_ , Betty and Veronica’s friendship fell apart a little after Archie and Veronica’s relationship — Betty couldn’t accept Veronica taking her parents' side in their projects and accused her of being untrustworthy, so when the Lodges moved back to New York, it was like they had never happened. Like Veronica never had a best friend.  
  
Feeling her tender touch makes Veronica want to cry again. All these people turned their back on her, thirteen years ago. She pushes Betty’s hand away. “I’m just having a really crappy day.”  
  
“I wrote an article about how the suicide rate doubles during the holidays.” Betty smiles. Veronica doesn’t think it’s funny, at all, and only raises an eyebrow. So, Betty became a journalist? “That’s not what you need to hear. What’s going on? I know that with me moving to Los Angeles with Sayid we don’t get to talk as much, but…”  
  
Veronica shakes her head.  
  
“Okay.” Betty sighs. “So, what is it? Work? You told me Pop’s wasn’t doing that great…” Veronica frowns. _Pop’s_? Does she work at _Pop’s_? Is she a _waiter_? There’s no shame in that, but...  “It’s not Archie, is it?”

Veronica looks down at her hands folded on her lap. For the first time since she woke up, she realizes there’s a ring on her left hand — a wedding band on her ring finger. Her throat aches. “Archie’s my husband,” she whispers, half-realizing that. It’s not the most surprising thing in this whole scenario, but it doesn’t help the horrible pain in the pit of her stomach, like heartburn.  
  
“Eleven years now.” Betty chuckles. “I still can’t believe you two got married at eighteen. It’s okay if you feel overwhelmed occasionally. Married to your high school boyfriend, kids… Sometimes, you might wake up and think, _is this the life I dreamt about?_ ”  
  
Eighteen. She got married at _eighteen_ , freshly out of high school, she supposes. Veronica sniffs, shaking her head. “You would be surprised,” she whispers. And then, a thought runs through her head. “It’s just two kids, right?”  
  
Betty chuckles, covering Veronica’s hand with her own. “Listen, remember what you told me last year, when Jughead came back from the dead with those _bikers,_ and I almost ruined everything I worked so hard for?”  
  
Veronica blinks. Jughead and the Serpents, she forgot completely about that. She looks up at Betty, expectant. She has absolutely no idea what happened to them, not in _real life_ , and not in this one. Except that, in this one, she does know that Betty has seemed to move on quite well.  
  
“You said: don’t screw up the best thing that ever happened in your life just because you’re a little unsure about who you are. Okay?” Betty squeezes her fingers. “Go home, V. You know that Archie needs you more than anything else in his life.”

 

 

 

 

Veronica washes her face in Betty’s old bathroom, avoiding looking at the mirror. She feels disgusting, tired, _beaten_. Thankfully, Betty tells everyone to _let it be_ when they go down the stairs, and she can cross the yard between their houses without anyone else talking to her.  
  
Betty hugs her when they get to the Andrews’s house. It feels very much the same as the last hug she’d ever given Veronica, thirteen years ago. Veronica taps Betty’s back lightly and watches her blonde hair sway when she walks back to her parents’ house.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Veronica steps inside the warm living room. The door is unlocked. She looks around, taking in the mess, and it doesn’t take her long to notice that Archie is there too, dressed now, sitting on one of the couches.  
  
He gets up immediately when he sees her. His hair is sticking up from all the times he ran his hand through it, and his eyes are red-rimmed like he’d been crying. Veronica has no idea what to do with that. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?!” he asks firmly, crossing the space between them in one or two steps.  
  
“I’m fine,” Veronica says, her voice hanging by a thread. He blows out a breath.  
  
“Do you have _any idea_ what you put me through today? You walked out at 7:30 in the morning, didn’t tell me where you were going, or even that you were going. You left your phone here, your wallet! You took the car! I called everyone you know! I called the hospitals. I went to the police… I…”  
  
He stops, rubbing his eyes. Veronica hasn’t seen him in such a long time, and she doesn’t know — she doesn’t know what’s going on, or what to do, or to say. The ring on his left finger is exactly like the one on hers, reminding her that she does owe him some sort of explanation. “I’m sorry.” It’s all she’s got.  
  
“You’re _sorry_?” he says, sniffing. “I’m glad you’re sorry, Veronica, because you missed Christmas. You missed the pancakes, the presents. You missed me having to find a fucking good excuse to tell Charlie why her _mother_ wasn’t here on Christmas. What kind of a person can abandon their family on Christmas? What kind of—”  
  
“I said _I’m sorry_!” Veronica breaks, and Archie stops, watching her curiously.  
  
“Where were you?” He asks, very serious.  
  
There’s no point in lying to him. Or trying to make up some excuse. They’ve been married since they’re _eighteen_ , so he probably knows her very well. “I was in Manhattan.”  
  
“Manhattan? Why were you in Manhattan?”  
  
“Because that’s where I _live_ , Archie! This will sound _nuts_ , but this — I woke up this morning _here_ , with you, but this isn’t my house. I’m not anyone’s _mami_. I’m not your wife. None of this,” she opens her arms, glancing around, “none of this is _real_ , and I…” she stops, tired.  
  
Archie looks disappointed. But then, he swallows hard and takes another step towards her. Veronica has nowhere to go — there’s only the closed door behind her — when he scoops her into his arms, hugging her tightly. “Stop saying nonsense, babe,” he says, his mouth pressed to her hair. He plants a kiss there, and then another to her temple. Veronica doesn’t know what to do, petrified inside his arms, tears prickling in her eyes _again_ when she breathes in and takes in his scent. It hasn’t changed one bit.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, kissing her cheek. “Don’t do this again, okay?”

Veronica instinctively turns her face around. She’s not ready for him to kiss her, not right now, not when she probably smells and tastes bad, not when she feels so goddamn fragile. Maybe not ever. “Okay,” she manages to whisper against his chest.

There’s noise coming down the stairs, and it makes them pull apart. Veronica barely has time to _breathe,_ away from his arms, when she spots Charlie running down the stairs. She’s not wearing Christmas pajamas anymore but a pretty red dress with a white sash around her waist. “Mami! You’re back!” she says, excited, throwing her arms around Veronica’s legs.

Veronica swallows hard. She can’t remember the last time a kid hugged her, or if that has ever even happened before. She doesn’t know how to react, so she just touches the little girl’s head, her fingers landing on the large, soft raven curls of her hair.

Charlie looks up, then. Her eyes are large and brown, exactly like Veronica’s, but there’s _something_ in her face that also resembles Archie. They exchange a look, and Charlie’s eyebrows knit together. “Mami?”

“Mami needs to rest, baby,” Archie says in a soft voice, placing both his hands on the girl’s shoulders and steering her away. Veronica exhales — finally, no one is _touching_ her. “Ronnie, why don’t you lie down for a bit before we get ready for the Blossom’s Christmas party?”

“The Blossom’s Christmas party?” she repeats. Charlie, now resting against Archie’s knees, keeps looking at her like she knows something isn’t right.

“Yeah. Mom is with Artie upstairs, and she agreed to stay with the kids for the night.” He winks. It doesn’t even look like he was mad at her five minutes ago. “Take a shower and rest. I’ll wake you up in one hour or so. And you!” Archie says, suddenly taking the little girl in his arms, making her squeal and laugh. “Let’s take Nevada out for a walk around the block, what do you think?”

Watching them close together, Veronica realizes that their resemblance lies in their lips — the shape of their smiles is just the same.

 

 

 

 

Veronica goes up the stairs, to Fred Andrews’s old room. In the en-suite bathroom, she stares at the mirror, determined to collect herself. She has never looked so disheveled in her entire life. 

The bathroom is small. In the cabinet, there are skin creams and makeup but also Archie’s after shave lotion and his razors. Their toothbrushes _match_. Everything seems to be bought from _Walmart_ , packs of six for five dollars. Nothing is high quality. Nothing is _hers_.

She looks at the mirror again, her face revealing a forlorn sense of displacement. None of this is _real_. Archie doesn’t love her. He’s just a stranger who broke her heart a decade ago. The girl sharing his smile and her eyes doesn’t _exist_. The woman with bags under her eyes and hollow cheeks, staring back at her, might not even be herself.

Veronica goes back to the bedroom, throwing herself in the messily made bed that she left this morning and cries until she falls asleep.

 

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little side/secret project here! This is a two-parter that I wanted to publish it before Christmas but, like everything I do, it turned out to be gigantic. I didn't finish part 2 just yet, but I'm REALLY enjoying to write this AU. I get to play with adult Varchie and with Veronica's POV, which is nice to me. I hope you all like it! It's losely based on the 00's movie with Nicolas Cage, "The Family Man."
> 
> It's AU post 2x10, sort of.
> 
> Merry Christmas! I hope to post part 2 before New Year's, let's see how it goes! Please, give me feedback! My inbox is always open on Tumblr @andsmile! Thank you so much for the support throughout the year! Oh, thanks Nic for beta-ing as usual!! Also, thanks to wifey AK for helping me with the plot and everything! ♡ ♡ ♡


	2. the road you're at

Veronica stirs, and her head hurts. Her eyelashes are stuck together with dried tears when she opens her eyes — not a nightmare. She didn’t wake up in her penthouse. Fred Andrews’s room, cramped and messy, still surrounds her.

It’s dark outside. The clock on the nightstand glows 11:14 PM. No one is in bed with her. Archie mentioned something about a party at the Blossoms, but maybe he went alone and left her to sleep.

She gets up slowly, rubbing her temples. _Archie Andrews._ This is insane.

Trying to draw as little attention as possible, Veronica tip-toes back to the small bathroom and turns on the shower. The hot water doesn’t do much to relax her — there’s just not enough pressure, and the shower curtains keep sticking to her skin — but it does help clean her mind, not only her skin.

There are two hanging towels — a green one, and a red one, to keep up with the Christmas theme. Those are also the colors of their toothbrushes by the sink. Veronica uses the red set — Archie’s hair would go great with the green, and that feels like something that her alternate self would think about.

Back in the room, she opens a drawer in the dresser. Her pajamas and nightgowns are in the second drawer, under her lingerie drawer. It’s the exact same setting as the one in her walk-in closet, in her real life.

(Except that, in this fake life, the fake Veronica probably suffers from some form of brain injury and thinks _flannel_ is an acceptable fabric for sleepwear. The amount of flannel pajamas and cotton t-shirts is outrageous. Where is the satin?)

She chooses a set, eventually. They’re ugly, but they’re quite comfortable. Ugly but cozy, like the whole house.

Without a sound, she walks out of the room and goes down the stairs. The house is mostly dark and silent, except for the droning sounds of the television in the living room, and the kitchen lights, that are still on.

In the living room, lit by the bluish light of the TV and the flickering, colorful lights on the Christmas tree, Archie is asleep, laying on the couch. He has one arm under his head and the other resting on his stomach. Veronica watches him as he snores softly. He’s sound asleep. Her throat aches, as if someone had been trying to strangle her. Veronica touches her neck, briefly wondering where her pearls are.

“Are you feeling better?” a voice comes from the kitchen, startling her. She turns around to spot Mary Andrews sitting at the kitchen island, slowly turning the page of a book.

“Sort of,” Veronica answers, carefully, throwing another glance at Archie before walking towards the kitchen. It’s much easier to talk with his mother than to even look at him — that’s for sure.

As soon as Veronica sits on the stool across from Mary, there’s a small cry at the kitchen door; the dog just noticed her presence and is trying to get a little attention. Both women ignore it — Veronica keeps her eyes down and feels Archie’s mom staring at her over her glasses’ frame.

“Let’s have some tea,” Mary says, suddenly, putting the book down, “and cookies. You’re probably hungry.”

She isn’t, not really, but she also hasn’t eaten anything throughout the whole day and that’s probably where the headache is coming from. She nods and folds her hands on the counter, watching as Mary moves around the kitchen with familiarity.

“Thank you, Mrs. Andrews,” Veronica says. She wonders if she should ask about the kids, but she doesn’t really care. Archie, Mary. Someone who _does_ give a shit has taken care of them.

“You haven’t called me Mrs. Andrews in twelve years.” Mary probably frowns — Veronica can’t really see since she’s only staring at her back as she prepares the tea. “You’re acting particularly teenage-like today.”

Since Mary still has her back turned on her, Veronica rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe it.”  
  
“Is this a joke to you?” the woman asks, turning around, frowning like expected. Veronica clenches her jaw — she and Archie’s mother had never been close. There had been no time for that. So, it’s kind of baffling, how _comfortable_ Mary id right now, as if scolding Veronica is nothing new in their relationship. “You and I had our problems, Veronica,” she goes on and keeps on preparing the tea, “and I’ve never lied to you. I always thought that my son deserved better than all the shit you’ve brought him in the past.”  
  
Veronica stares at her red curls bouncing as Mary speaks because she has literally no idea what she is talking about. In _real life_ , the only one who brought shit to anyone in the past was Archie. Veronica’s hands were completely clean.  
  
The dog scratches the door, calling for attention again. Veronica’s headache increases.  
  
“But you know what?” Mary keeps on talking, probably used to Veronica _shutting up_ while being reprimanded. _This is ridiculous,_ Veronica thinks. “Time went by. I saw how you stood by him through anything. I saw how you worked hard so he could live his dreams,” she says, getting cups and plates from the cupboard and placing them with ferocity in front of Veronica, who is trying to process all the information while ignoring the dog’s pleas behind the door. “And especially after Fred passed away, you have given all you’ve got to this family. Something _I_ could never do and I admired you for that.”  
  
Veronica frowns, watching as Mary sets down a plate of Christmas cookies and then pours hot water into a cup in front of her. So, Fred isn’t alive anymore, which explains why he’s nowhere to be seen, and _fake life_ Veronica is stuck with the annoying mother-in-law who thinks she has the right to give input. Great.  
  
“Thank you,” Veronica says, because Mary has given her a pause long enough for the silence to be slightly awkward. She means the tea, which tastes solely like hot water — like everything else in this house, the brand they have is cheap and tasteless — but it does help with the pain in her stomach.  
  
“And now you pull a stunt like this? Disappear on Christmas day and give Archie no explanation? _Please_ , my boy might be ignorant, but I am not.” Mary looks at her, stirring her tea with a small spoon. Veronica wonders if she should eat the cookies. They look frosted by the kids, and who the hell knows about their hygiene standards. “Are you cheating on him?”  
  
This gets her attention, more than anything else. She looks up at Mary, half-surprised, half-offended. “Is that even a possibility?” she asks, a deep crease between her eyebrows. Her heartbeat rate increases for no reason. She wouldn’t— she doesn’t think she _would_ cheat on Archie if they ever got married. She wouldn’t feel the need to love anyone else. She—  
  
“If you’re about to break his heart—”  
  
Veronica snorts. _Of course_. It’s the same old story: succubus Veronica, about to break everyone’s hearts in this shitty, little town. Mary Andrews has no idea how everything really went down. “You— I’m sorry, _Mary_ , but this— _no_ ,” she says, running a hand through her hair. She takes a deep breath to control herself. “I really thank you for being here and helping with the… _kids_ , and all, but you don’t get to come into Archie’s— _my_ house and talk to me like you know what’s going on here, or between us. So— _no_.”  
  
Mary stares at her dumbfounded. It’s probably the first-time _fake Veronica_ ever stood up to her fake mother-in-law. “I’m just trying to—”

“I know _exactly_ what you’re trying to do, Mary, and _no_. So, thank you for the tea. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to—” she looks around. The kitchen is not as untidy and cramped like the rest of the house, which is good, but there’s still nowhere to run. She sees a leash by the back door. “I’m going to walk the dog. Yes, thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 _I’m going to walk the dog. What a great idea._  
  
Nevada is dragging Veronica down the streets surrounding the Andrews’s home. It’s freaking cold, and both of their breath are condensing in the winter air. Riverdale hasn’t changed much in thirteen years. In fact, it hasn’t changed _at all_ — it’s still the same _In Cold Blood_ nightmare she stepped into when she was fifteen.  
  
Walking the dog isn’t a big mystery, even though it’s been over a decade since she did that. She remembers, getting acquainted to Vegas and trying to help any way she could when Fred Andrews was shot — taking the labrador for walks around the block or by Sweetwater River was something she and Archie used to do a lot together, back then.  
  
It was so important to her, that Archie could see her as someone who was really trying. Who really _wanted_ to change, to become someone better, someone worthy of that simple, mundane life. It makes her roll her eyes now, when she thinks about how things turned out in the end.  
  
“ _Fangs_. A good name for a dog, too,” she casually tells Nevada, who is sniffing at a hydrant and a couple of garbage cans, trying to find some territory to mark. “He told me I should figure it out. Well, _I’m screwed._ I don’t have to be a genius to figure _that_ out.”  
  
The dog keeps on moving, pulling Veronica with her.  
  
“There is still the possibility that I’m just dreaming and making all of this up. But if I’m not — there’s something in this life that I need to find, so I can go back to _my_ life. I need to take this on as a bad deal.” Nevada is sniffing around someone’s Christmas display, but Veronica is too wrapped up in her thought process to notice. “How do we get out of a bad deal? We find the other’s weak spot. You survey the damage, find out everything you can, leave nothing to chance. I’m just gonna have to go detective here. That’s our play here, Nevada.”  
  
The labrador sniffs Veronica’s hand, as if agreeing to the statement. Veronica pats her head, briefly, and then looks around, wondering if she can find her way back to the house.

Archie is no longer on the couch when she returns, her face red from the cold. The whole house is silent. Veronica tries not to make any noise when she climbs up to the second floor.  
  
He’s under the covers now, on what she believes is “his side” of the bed — it was, this morning, when they woke up together, and also when they dated so many years ago. She looks over at him, taking a deep breath. She doesn’t want to get into bed with him again. It’s just— it’s _too much._ But it won’t do her resolution to get out of this bad deal any good if she sleeps anywhere else but by his side.  
  
Hungry, tired, and cold, Veronica slips under the covers by his side. Archie stirs and, even in his sleep, comes a couple of inches closer to her.

 

 

 

 

Veronica frowns when a burst of light hits her eyes from the window. It feels exactly the same as the morning light in her penthouse.  
  
She reaches across the bed. It was difficult, sleeping by Archie’s side. The heat radiating from his body was uncomfortable, and in the middle of the night, when she was almost falling asleep, he decided to snuggle even closer to her, putting one arm around her. She woke up immediately, startled by the way he was breathing down her neck, and it took a long time for her exhaustion to win her over.  
  
But now, the bed is empty and cold. So, maybe, _just maybe…_  
  
The sound of a baby crying emerges from somewhere above her. A pained look erases the hopeful smile from Veronica’s face as she realizes that she’s still in Riverdale.  
  
The baby is wailing, now. Veronica lies still for a moment, praying that it will stop, but it doesn’t. Resigned, she sighs and sits up.  “Archie?” she tries. “Mary?”  
  
No answer. Who’s gonna shut the little monster up?  
  
_“ARCHIEE??”_  
  
“Oh, you’re up!” he opens the bathroom door, so abruptly it startles her. He’s freshly showered, drying his hair with a towel, another one around his waist. Veronica curses herself for even noticing the water droplets running down his torso.  
  
“And so is the baby,” she says, grumpy. The baby has great lungs. Damn, don’t they at least have a _nanny_ or something?  
  
“Don’t give me that look. You know you’re the only one who can calm him down in the morning,” Archie chuckles. She hates that he still looks like a daydream, but she has little time to think about that, because Archie is suddenly coming closer to her and grabbing her face with both hands. Veronica’s heart starts to race — there is _nowhere_ to go. They’ve apparently been married for _ages_. If she turns her face, he’ll think it’s weird, after what happened yesterday, and— and he kisses her. He tastes like minty toothpaste. It only lasts a couple of seconds. “I’ll make breakfast,” Archie says afterwards. “You’re feeling better?”  
  
Veronica thinks she might throw her guts out if she opens her mouth, so she just stares at him, dumbfounded, and nods.  
  
He smiles, and pulls away, resuming whatever he was doing to his hair with the towel. Veronica scratches the back of her neck, feeling warm. The baby is crying so hard, it’s almost losing his breath now. “I’ll—” she starts, but then decides it’s better if she keeps her mouth shut.

 

 

 

 

Mary must have left at some point between last night and this morning, because she’s nowhere to be seen in the Andrews’s household. But given Archie’s behavior, his mother hasn’t mentioned anything about their _misunderstanding_ , and for that, Veronica is glad. She would think _good riddance_ , but now she’s in Archie’s old room (which was turned into the kids’ room, apparently), staring at a crying baby, with no idea of what to do with it, and no one to turn to.  
  
Charlie is watching her from her princess bed across the room, wearing cute pajamas, her raven hair all over the place. Veronica takes a deep breath. She wants to apologize to the little girl — no child should ever have to share a bedroom with a screaming ambulance — but she also just wants to get this over with.  
  
“C’mon, Artie,” Veronica rubs the boy’s belly, like she did with Nevada yesterday before going to bed. “Legend says I carried you inside me for nine months, so the least you could do for me is stop crying.”

It doesn’t have any effect.  
  
“You need to change him.” Charlie says, suddenly, staring at her with the same expression from the day before in the living room.  
  
“Oh,” Veronica says. That makes sense. “That’s what your father couldn’t do? Men.” She shakes her head. She glances around the room. There’s a changing table where Archie’s desk used to be, right under the window facing Betty’s room. “Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up,” she tells Artie, sloppily taking him in her arms. She _can’t_ remember the last time she held a baby.  
  
But he seems to calm down when she brings him closer to her chest, hugging him and taking him to the changing table. “Okay,” Veronica lays Artie down on his back. There’s a pack of Huggies diapers right next to him. Artie grabs a tube of ointment and starts playing with it, bringing it to his mouth. The tube is closed, and he stopped crying, at least, so that’s a good sign. “This shouldn’t be hard.”  
  
She reads the instructions at the back of the box of Huggies. “Pull tape,” Veronica searches the diaper for the tabs of tape, then gingerly pulls them apart, releasing the diaper from Artie’s bottom and seeing (and smelling) what’s inside. “ _Holy fuck!_ What are you eating?!”  
  
Veronica holds the diaper away from her, searching for a place to throw it. She considers throwing it out the window or incinerating it, when Charlie points to some stylish garbage can by the dresser. Veronica wastes no time throwing it away. Charlie, then, points to the box of baby wipes.  
  
“You’re kidding, right?”  
  
Charlie shakes her head. Veronica sighs again — she takes one (or ten) baby wipes to clean up Artie’s mess, and the baby is now laughing at her, taking a break from chewing the ointment tube, which Veronica can only assume is the next step.  
  
“You’re not really Mami, are you?”

Veronica turns to her. Charlie is looking back at her with her big brown eyes filled with complete earnestness. Veronica swallows hard. There was no rule from _Fangs_ saying that no one could find out the truth, and if that kid is smart enough…  
  
“No, I’m not,” she says, incapable of lying for some reason. She gets ready for fear, but there’s only curiosity in Charlie’s face. “I work on Wall Street. You know? With the big buildings? I live in an apartment with a doorman. I can buy anything I want.” Veronica sighs. The little girl just nods, but there’s a suspicious crease between her eyebrows. “This isn’t my real life. Fangs said it’s just a glimpse.”  
  
“Where is my real Mami?” she asks in such a small voice. It’s almost heartbreaking.  
  
“I don’t know.” Veronica shrugs. A concerned look takes over Charlie’s face, and Veronica is suddenly worried that she’ll start to cry. “But look, I’m sure she loves you very much and that she’ll be back _very soon_. I just need to get back to my own life too, you know? Maybe we switched places.”  
  
Charlie nods, slowly. She gets out of her bed, climbing up on a stool so she can be at Veronica’s height. She touches Veronica’s face with her little hands: pinches her cheeks, examines her jaw, even her ears. “They did a pretty good job.” She concludes.  
  
Veronica frowns. “Who?”  
  
“The aliens. Daddy told me about them,” she says. Veronica raises an eyebrow. “You look just like Mami.”  
  
“Oh. Thanks?” Veronica says, unsure. Charlie keeps on looking at her, as if trying to decide what to do now that she has understood what’s going on. This could be useful. I’m going to hell, Veronica thinks. “Listen, Charlie. I need your help, so we can bring your real Mami back. Do you think you can help me?”  
  
She thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t know. Do you like kids?”  
  
“On a case by case basis…” Veronica says, glancing over at Artie, who is still distracted with his ointment tube.  
  
“Do you know how to make a chocolate milkshake?”  
  
Veronica smiles a little at that. Betty did say she works at Pop’s, so the recipe should be lying around somewhere. “Yes.”  
  
“Do you promise not to kidnap me and my brother?” Charlie gets more serious this time. Veronica almost chuckles at the sudden change of direction. “Or hurt Daddy?”  
  
“I promise. I just want to go back to my life.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence. And, then, a smile from Charlie — the one that makes her look like Archie, innocent and wide. “Welcome to Earth!” the little girl says, enthusiastically.

 

 

 

 

Cleaning Artie and getting him ready for daycare is a lot easier with his sister’s instructions — she even remembers that he should wear something old because they’ll have macaroni panting today. Veronica can’t help but admire her fake daughter — she’s really smart and articulate and proves herself to be really useful, too. Charlie is so excited about having an _alien_ under her roof that she even forgets about missing her real mother and explains to Veronica a lot about the Andrews’s daily routine.

“Mami gets us dressed while Daddy cooks breakfast, ‘cause Mami only knows how to make salads, coffee and milkshakes,” Charlie says, counting the things _fake Veronica_ knows how to cook on her little fingers, while real Veronica searches for something to dress her with. “Then you drive me and Daddy to school, and then you take Artie to dayc—”

Veronica stops evaluating Charlie’s clothes and turns around to face her, one eyebrow raised. “Your Dad stays at school?”

She beams. “Yes! He teaches music for us!”

Veronica stares blankly at Charlie. “Your Dad is the kids’ music teacher?”

Charlie nods. Okay, so she works at Pop’s, and Archie chose the most poorly paid, respectful job he could pick from a list. “In the morning, he teaches us, and in the afternoon, he has the students from Riverdale High,” Charlie explains, sounding _proud_.

Veronica suddenly remembers Archie’s _admiration_ for Riverdale High’s music teachers. “Isn’t that Freudian,” she asks herself amidst a sigh.

_No wonder nobody makes a dime._

 

 

 

 

The morning goes exactly as Charlie mentioned it would — Archie screams about breakfast. The little girl runs down the stairs, and Veronica slowly, _really_ slowly, step-by-step, goes after her with baby Artie in her arms. He smells so good and clean now. Veronica is almost having to fight the urge to maybe plant a kiss on one of his chubby cheeks when she reaches the kitchen, and Archie immediately takes “his big boy” from her arms, winking at her as if a green sign that he’s got the kids so she can finally get ready.

It’s really different from the morning routine she had perfected for herself in the past few years. The whole house smells like eggs and bacon, and there’s no sound system — so she can’t listen to music while doing her makeup in peace. Veronica knows that fake Veronica owns a phone — Archie mentioned yesterday, in the middle of the confusion — that must be lying somewhere, maybe inside her purse, but truth is Veronica is dreading checking it and finding out more intimate details of the life that doesn’t belong to her.

At least she wears Chanel n.5 in all of her universes. The scent is familiar, _expensive_ , and helps her feel more at peace.

Opening her closet, Veronica realizes that they’ve spent a lot more with the quality of Charlie’s and Artie’s clothing than their own. There are some things from her older days, she supposes, some couture cocktail dresses here and there, but the daily clothes are mostly just _average_. She spots a yellow uniform in the corner and takes in a deep breath. There’s no shame in any kind of work.

Putting on a Pop’s uniform is _weird_. It makes her think about her mother and what happened when Hiram was arrested, when they had to move to Riverdale without much in their pockets. Veronica stares at herself in the full-length mirror behind one of the closet doors — maybe that’s what she needs to _figure out_ , that some people start from the bottom.

_“RONNIEEE! We’re going to be laaaate!”_

She ties her hair up into a ponytail and puts on a pair of white sneakers — she’s not going to serve tables in heels all day, thank you — and manages to go back to the kitchen before Archie starts screaming her name again.

“Oh,” he says, a little stupefied when he sees her. Veronica feels her cheeks heat up because she realizes he’s checking _her out_ — in front of the kids, nonetheless — and, without having much to do, smooths the skirt down.

“Is anything wrong?” Veronica asks. She glances at Charlie, who’s chuckling around a mouthful of cereal.

Archie shakes his head, and the tips of his ears are red. “Nope. Eat something, babe. We’re gonna be late,” he says, setting a plate with eggs, bacon and toast on the table. Veronica’s stomach growls — she can’t even remember the last time (and space) she ate — and she _thinks_ there must be something wrong.  Though, no one’s giving away anything, so she just sits down and reaches out for the coffee jar when Archie _materializes_ behind her chair, leaning down and diving his face in the crook of her neck. “I love when you wear this,” he whispers at her ear, breathing in against her skin, punctuating with a small kiss on her shoulder.

“Eeeew!” Charlie squeals, probably jokingly because she’s also laughing, covering her face with both her hands. Veronica knows it’s impossible that the little girl heard Archie — she’s probably just overreacting about the kiss, like kids do — but Veronica feels like her head is going to _explode_.

“Eeeew!” Artie repeats, clapping, even though he probably has no idea as to what’s going on.

“Okay, you know the rules about _ew-ing_ me.” Archie laughs, pointing a wooden spoon at Charlie, who’s peeking behind her fingers. Oh. Apparently, this is a game. “Everyone gets kisses! Sir Arthur.” He kisses Artie on the cheek first, making a funny noise, and the baby bursts out laughing.

“Eeeew, Daddy!” Charlie howls again.

“Your time is coming, Lady Charlotte!” Archie goes to her, planting kisses on her face and tickling her on her sides. The sun is streaming through the windows. The kitchen is filled with the kids’ and Archie’s laughter, and Nevada is barking outside, wanting to be part of the mess as well.

Veronica feels a little dizzy — Archie’s voice in her ear, his _presence_ , all the noise now, and how the kids really _do_ look like both of them somehow — but watches intently as she finally starts eating her breakfast.

 

 

 

 

Archie, thankfully, only kisses her on the cheek when she drops Charlie and him off at elementary school, which is just a few blocks away from Riverdale High. He holds his guitar case with one hand and Charlie’s hand with the other as they walk the snowy way towards the entrance, and Veronica watches them go for a minute. Eventually, Charlie — _Charlotte_ , what a pretty name, it’s something she’d definitely had chosen — turns around and winks at her, reminding her that she’ll keep their secret.

“Okay,” Veronica says, glancing at Arthur in the rear-view mirror. “Let’s take you to your macaroni painting, or whatever that is.”

“Mamamamama,” Artie says.

 _Excellent input_.

A few minutes later, she pulls up in front of Riverdale’s Day Care center, which _somehow_ she remembers being somewhere between Riverdale High and Pop’s. She pulls Artie out of his baby car seat after struggling a little with the belts. “C’mon,” she carries him to the door, where a lady with a warm smile is waiting on them.

“Hello!” she greets Artie with a voice that’s way too sweet, and the baby slips from Veronica’s arms to hers way too easily. Veronica frowns, not really sure if that woman can be trusted.

“Do I get a receipt, or something?” she asks.

The lady, obviously, thinks she’s joking.

 

 

 

 

Taking off her winter coat, Veronica ties her white apron around her waist. She takes in a deep breath, as she stares at the diner where she spent so much time the year she lived in Riverdale. It looks exactly the same, a place that’s at a standstill in time.  
  
The diner is already open when she walks in, the bell chiming and catching people’s attention for a second — workers having their breakfasts, some teenagers on winter vacation, sharing booths and hot chocolate. Behind the counter, she spots Pop Tate himself, looking exactly the same even if thirteen years older than when she last saw him — a vampire, no doubt — and her heart warms up.  
  
It lasts only a couple of seconds when she notices the other people wearing a waiter uniform. At the counter, drawing something on a pad of paper, is Chuck Clayton, the bastard from the football team, the one that slut shamed her. Veronica sets her jaw and raises her chin when he looks up at her. His thick eyebrows knit together for a moment.  
  
“Morning, boss,” Chuck says, probably mocking her as he drinks in her outfit. “Didn’t think you’d be coming today.”  
  
“I told you, she can’t stay away for one single day,” Pop tells Chuck, smiling as he pours more coffee to a man reading the newspaper.  
  
“Let me guess! Archie has to work at the school’s winter camp, the baby had some baby business, and you will avoid visiting your mom and Andre by saying that the diner was so busy that you had to help us serve today!” Chuck points a pen at her. Veronica just stares at him, blankly. Chuck Clayton is talking to her about her life as if he knows all the details. In this reality, she, somehow, is friends with that disgusting piece of sh—  
  
“Leave the boss alone, Chucky.” Pop taps him on the shoulder. Pop wouldn’t mock her like that. Veronica’s mind races back through time, and then she remembers. That Christmas. That Christmas she spent an absurd amount of dollars paying for Fred Andrews’s medical bills and found out that Hiram Lodge was the diner’s real owner. That day, she decided to help her parents in their plans for Riverdale.  
  
Could that mean…?  
  
“Is there any mail for me, Pop?” Veronica asks, tentatively, ignoring Chuck, who rolls his eyes and gets back to his drawing.  
  
“Down in your office, some letters, yes. I’ll send you some coffee in a minute.”

 

 

 

 

It takes Veronica a few minutes of just _trying to find_ a door that could lead her to _down at her office_. She _owns_ Pop’s. She’s not a waitress. She probably doesn’t even have to wear this yellow uniform — which explains _a lot_ about Archie’s reaction that morning. It just doesn’t add up as to why Chuck Clayton is working for her, and why do they live in such mediocre conditions if she runs the most successful business (the _only_ business) in town?

After finding the bathrooms and the storage, Veronica finally discovers a door that leads to some sort of basement. There’s a lot of space down there, but it’s only filled with boxes and dust. Another door has her name on it.

Her office, thankfully, has a skylight and receives natural light. It’s small and cluttered, but a lot more organized than everything she’s seen at the Andrews’s — _her_ — house so far. There’s a poster hanging on the wall behind the desk — DREAMS DON’T WORK UNLESS YOU DO — and she can see herself spending most of her time in that safe place, away from the mess and the noise.

Veronica sits behind the desk and surveys it briefly. On the desk there is a picture frame of her, Archie, and the kids, looking like a family from a commercial or something. It makes her think back to the family picture she has in her _real_ office — she, Hermione, and Hiram, broken beyond repair but still smiling politely.

She opens the top drawer. There are some planners and things that she supposes she’ll have to get familiar with. The bottom drawer is locked with a key. Veronica reaches for her bag — it should be somewhere in her bag — and, when she starts looking for it, her cell phone gets her attention.

The lock screen picture is of the kids — Charlie with an even younger Artie on her lap. They’re wearing matching bunny outfits and look disgustingly cute. Veronica is slightly surprised to find out that she can unlock fake-Veronica’s phone with her fingerprint — and the background picture is her and Archie, a selfie he took while she kissed his cheek.

They look so happy.

Veronica puts the phone down and keeps on looking for the key to the drawer. She thinks of where _she_ would keep it, and finds it hanging in the keychain with the house keys — no one looks for important things at the obvious places.

She opens the drawer. There’s no cash or jewellery — _that would be stupid_ — but some paperwork that looks important. Veronica reads everything briefly, finding out that she has two mortgages on Pop’s — _that was stupid_ — and…

“Oh.”

She examines Pop’s deed for a minute and a contract attached to it. Until that very moment she had believed that she inherited the diner from her father, but this says…

“I _bought_ Pop’s from my father? How on Earth did I get the money for that…” She keeps on reading, and then, one of the lines in the contract hits her like a ton of bricks. “In exchange of my inheritance. I gave it up…” she whispers, realizing the weight of it all. “I gave up on my dad.”

_What if he’s alive in this universe? What if what I need to figure out is…_

“Hey, boss!” The door opening startles her. Veronica almost jumps off her chair. Chuck Clayton walks in, a cup of coffee in hand. “Your coffee is here. Jesus, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You should knock before walking in,” she says, twirling the edge of her ponytail around her finger. Chuck rolls his eyes again and sets the coffee mug in front of her. “I haven’t seen a ghost, but I’m starting to think that I will.”

“ _V._ The stunt you pulled yesterday… Everyone in town knows about it already,” Chuck says, placing both hands on the desk and smiling sweetly at her. “If anything is happening between you and Archie, you know you can count on me, right?”

 _Betty said something similar yesterday. Archie’s Mom, too. Everyone seems to think something bad is happening between them._ “I know,” Veronica says. For all the things she’s confused about, _Chuck Clayton_ talking to her as if he’s her best friend is on the top of her list. She almost misses Elio. “Thanks for the coffee. I have stuff to do.”

Chuck snorts. “Stop playing tough. It will kill you one day,” he says but mercifully leaves. Veronica gets a pen, one of the planners in the top drawer, and starts writing things down.

 

 

 

 

Veronica’s day goes on as a mix of trial and error. She spends a couple of hours trying to _figure out_ whatever _Fangs_ wanted her to figure out — she manages to successfully start a timeline of events of this alternate reality, or whatever — and more than half the time wondering if she isn’t _crazy_. Maybe she should go see a doctor, or something. She actually opens her computer to google people’s experiences with _glimpses_ and other universes, and it still sounds like a permanent acid trip.

When Pop requests her presence upstairs to talk to some guy named Sydney about renting the diner for his son’s _bar mitzvah_ , which she had no idea was even a possibility, she quickly gets Pop to arrange the details with Mr. Mitzvah, and then thinks about the unused space downstairs. People _could_ probably use some extra entertainment in Riverdale, even a decade later, and they had a perfectly profitable space going to waste while everyone was counting their pennies to buy cotton pads in bundle in her household.

 _How come the other me never thought about using that space before?_ she keeps thinking as she watches Chuck shuffling from table to table, getting orders and being completely nice to everyone. _This reality is just fucked up_.

Then, a supplier calls, and he’s fuming about some delayed payment. Veronica says something about the holidays messing up banking transactions and that everything should be normal before New Year’s. She hopes she’s far away from this nightmare by then, and _fake Veronica_ can deal with whatever it is.

Around four, the diner’s movement slows down again. Chuck goes back to drawing behind the counter, and Pop takes a break. Veronica decides to stay upstairs, fearing having to deal with another angry supplier, when the bell chimes.

“Hola everyone,” the man who walks in says. Veronica takes a little while to recognize him, when she remembers he’s Sayid, Betty’s boyfriend? Fiancé? that greeted her at the Cooper’s house yesterday. Betty is right behind him, looking pretty with her hair down and a white sweater, and she’s hand in hand with Charlie.

“Archie asked us to pick her up, V,” Betty says, coming closer to the counter. Charlie waves, excited. “He has that thing in Greendale today and said you weren’t picking up your phone.”

“Oh,” Veronica’s face heats up. She completely forgot about her cellphone at her office, which is something she supposes mothers don’t usually do. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t he call the diner?”

“He said you were probably really busy,” Betty answers, but then looks around, eyeing the one couple who’s having hot chocolate at a booth in a corner.

“We were, it slowed down now,” Chuck says, suddenly, going around the counter to pick Charlie up. “Thanks for bringing my favorite girl!”

Charlie laughs when Chuck tickles her. Veronica sees how _familiar_ this is for her. “Uncle Chuck, can I see your sketchbook?”

“Should I order my favorite?” Sayid sits at one of the counter stools, reaching out for a menu. Betty, still watching Veronica with her _I-know-something’s-off_ face, sits next to him. “Hashbrowns and scramb—”

“Uh, uh,” Veronica interrupts him, lifting one finger. “Pop is taking a break, and I can only make salads, coffee, and milkshakes,” she says, repeating the information Charlie gave her that morning. “Pick your poison.”

Sayid chuckles. “See? This is why Veronica is my favorite friend of yours,” he tells Betty, leaning in to give her a peck on the lips. Betty smiles sweetly afterwards, slowly rubbing his back. Veronica had never seen Betty with anyone but Jughead. She had never even thought that Betty could’ve ended up with someone different. It’s… weird, to see her like this. Calm, steady, _happy_. “Coffee it is, then.”

Veronica almost heaves out a relieved breath. Coffee is actually the _only_ thing from that list that _she_ can make.

 

 

 

 

When he’s back from his break, Pop gives Sayid his hash browns and actually cooks something healthier for Charlie, chicken breast with mashed potatoes and a glass of orange juice. While she eats, Veronica picks Artie up from the daycare — turns out the daycare lady actually returned him — just to find out that he had already taken a bath and eaten too, so all she had to do before Archie came back from _his thing in Greendale_ was feed Nevada, change the kids into their pajamas, and maybe put them to bed. _Someone_ should walk Nevada, but she supposes that she shouldn’t leave the kids alone in the house, so she’ll just wait for Archie.

The baby is easier — Veronica changed him in the morning already, and he was pretty tired after his whole _artistic_ day. So, she only has to rub his belly and hum whatever song for a while before he’s knocked out in his cradle.

Charlie looks a little sad, though, when Veronica goes back to the living room. She’s changed into her pajamas herself, and her curls look messy. She has a stuffed animal on her lap, and it’s noticeable that she’s holding on to it.

“Charlie?” _I did not sign up for this_ , Veronica thinks when she sees the pout of her mouth. “Are you okay?”

She nods. Then, she shrugs. “What if Mami never comes back?”

Veronica sighs. “This is _not_ a possibility. I will not be stuck on this planet forever, okay?” she says, coming closer. Veronica is tired — maybe it’s the whole _experience_ , but taking care of kids and an almost-bankrupt diner that’s also a bar mitzvah spot is as exhausting as being a Wall Street giant. Charlie looks up at her with her big brown eyes. “I don’t belong here, and I’m—” Veronica stops. She can’t make this kid cry. She wouldn’t know what to do. “Okay. The mothership asked me to find some information so they can bring your Mami back faster. Do you think you can answer me?”

“Like a quiz?” she asks, intrigued. Veronica nods, kneeling in front of her, trying to be on her eye level. The sadness seems to dissipate from her pretty face, giving space for some gullible excitement. “Okay!”

“Can you tell me about your grandparents? Your Daddy’s parents?”

“Grandma Mary lives in Chicago, which is a big city. She comes to see us every month. She’s nice, always takes me to eat ice-cream. She says that I can go to Chicago to visit her when Mami let’s me!” Charlie smiles brightly. _I am definitely going to hell,_ Veronica thinks. “And Grandpa Freddie died,” she says, looking sad again. “I was three.” She counts on her hand. “But now, he lives with Baby Jesus and the angels, so I guess he’s okay.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely okay” Veronica smiles a little, thinking back. So, Fred passed away before Artie was even born. She mentally adds that information to the timeline she’s been building up. “And what about your Mami’s parents? Do they ever come here?”

“Grandma Hermione doesn’t come here, but sometimes we go to New York to visit her and Uncle Andre. We can’t call him Grandpa.” Charlie stops, thinking about it, probably for the first time in her short life. Veronica almost rolls her eyes. “I think that’s because Grandpa is Grandpa Hiram, Mami’s Dad.”

Veronica forgets about Andre’s existence for a second. “What about Grandpa Hiram?” she asks, feeling something in her throat. The answer is something she’s both longing for and dreading to hear.

Charlie shrugs. “I didn’t meet him. He died a long time ago. He also lives with Jesus and the angels. Maybe with Grandpa Freddie too?”

Veronica feels her body soften. She’s not sure if she’s _relieved_ or disappointed by this information, but at least it's something to cross off her list. She isn’t here to get her father to forgive her for turning her back on him.

Then _why_?

“Miss Martian?” Charlie asks, suddenly, and Veronica takes a long moment to realize she’s even talking to her. “Is it okay if I call you _Mami_?”

Veronica looks at the little girl for beat and then chuckles. “Yeah. You can call me Mami.” She smiles back at her. “C’mon, you need to go to bed before your Daddy comes home and finds out I suck at this.”

 

 

 

 

Charlie doesn’t ask for a kiss goodnight or for a bedtime story, and Veronica couldn’t be more grateful. As much as they’re lovely kids, they’re not _hers_ , and she’s never — she’s never wanted kids, not _really_. Maybe it was a distant possibility when she was younger and still believed in all the things she doesn’t anymore, but there had never been _space_ in Veronica’s life for this.

With the kids asleep and Archie still out, she can take some time for herself. She takes a long, hot shower, moisturizes her skin from head to toe, and puts on the best quality pajamas she can find in her drawer of flannel horrors. At least it’s pure cotton and feels comfortable.

Deciding that Archie will walk the dog when he arrives from his _thing_ — whatever that was, it was taking a long time — she gets in bed with _fake Veronica’s_ reading glasses and a book that was on the nightstand. It’s a silly romance, like the ones she used to enjoy when she was a teen. It’s something _she_ hasn’t done in a while, always too preoccupied with numbers to pay attention to words.

She’s been reading for quite a while when Nevada barks, and it’s not long before she hears Archie’s footsteps going up the stairs. Veronica bites the inside of her mouth, suddenly a bit anxious. She hasn’t really been _alone_ with Archie ever since this whole thing started — this morning, Artie was crying, and yesterday she was “acting crazy” in his eyes.

She sits up a little bit more on the bed when he walks in. His hair is crazy messy, all dried sweat, and he has such a huge smile on his face that she can’t stop her heart from beating just a little bit faster. “God, Ronnie, it was _so cool_!” he says before even saying _hello_ , his eyes lighting up when he sees her. “The pub was packed and they all sang with us. We had a great—”

 _A gig in a pub in Greendale._ Veronica sighs, trying not to look unimpressed, but she’s pretty sure it’s inevitable.

“What’s with the face?” Archie giggles when he catches her expression, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. It’s the second of the day. The second in thirteen years. He sits on the edge of the bed. “I know, you hate when you can’t go… I thought Mom was going to watch the kids tonight as well, but she left early in the morning…”

Veronica places a hand on his shoulder, a little nervous. She has to say literally _anything_ , otherwise this will be even weirder. Or he might get even closer. “What song was their favorite?” she asks, too aware of the fabric of his shirt under her palm and the way he always used to smell after performing.

“You know that Suitcase* is always everyone’s favorite…” Archie smiles a little, and Veronica recognizes it from back then — the smile, the way he got crossed eye when he was staring at her lips. She swallows hard when his hand cups her face, thumb stroking her jaw. “But I don’t think I did my best, you know?”

“Why not?” Veronica asks, her breath caught up in her throat.

“I was distracted,” he whispers, his thumb going down from her jaw to the curve of her neck. Veronica feels her skin cover with goosebumps. He is way too close, and they are way too alone. “Kept thinking about you in that uniform the whole day…”

She has little time to think that this _can’t happen_ when it’s already happening. Archie is kissing her again, the third in thirteen years, but this time — this time he really kisses her. His lips capture hers, his tongue touches hers, and it makes her breathe in, almost melt. He cradles her head with his hand, and his fingertips press into her scalp. Veronica forces herself to remember that he _broke her heart_ and that she spent the last decade forgetting him, but it’s useless. Her hands run through his short, sweaty hair, bringing him closer to her.

Archie sighs but doesn’t stop kissing her. Veronica only realizes he’s leaning over her when her back hits the mattress, his weight making her sink into it. All the boys, all the one night stands. She’d been looking for _this_ kiss, and now…

“God, Ronnie,” Archie whispers, kissing down her neck. Veronica feels her chest go up and down as she breathes heavily. Opening her eyes and seeing his red hair, listening to his voice, it’s all bringing her to a different time and place.

“Archie,” she can’t believe she whispers, taking his face on her hands, her heart exploding on her chest. She holds his face still, looking at him, _just looking_. He does look a bit older, his forehead wrinkling even deeper, shaving burns on his jaw, but he’s just… His golden brown eyes, his thick eyebrows, the shape of his rosy lips. She used to love him so much. And he was such a handsome boy back then, but now he’s a _man_.

Veronica stares at him, entranced. Archie smiles softly, reacting to the intensity of her gaze.

“How can you do this?” he asks, pressing his fingers to her waist. Veronica wets her lips, his face still on her hands.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like you haven’t seen me every day for the past thirteen years, babe,” he says, kissing her again. Veronica lets him, kisses him back until she’s short of breath. “I love you so much.”

She freezes, then, when he whispers these words on the column of her neck. All this love he feels, is not meant for her. _This isn’t real_ , she remembers, suddenly overcome with melancholy. Real Archie didn’t love her. Real Archie _betrayed_ her, and she had to deal with the consequences of that heartache for years. This body against her, this kiss, it’s not…

“The dog,” she remembers, _thankfully_ , feeling a little uncomfortable about his mouth now, “I didn’t walk her. She needs to—”

“Oh, _no._ Really?” Archie pulls away, frowning. Veronica looks to her side. She can’t. She just— whatever’s going on, she can’t. She’s not going through that again. “Fuck. Okay,” he says, heaving out a breath and laying by her side.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica brings her hands to her face, fighting the urge to cry. “I didn’t want to leave the kids alone. I can go and—”

“No, no, I’ll go,” he says, and then laughs a little, glancing over at her. “Just give me a second.”

Veronica nods, her heart beating on her throat. She stares at the ceiling while he recovers his breath. After a minute, Archie kisses her face and says he’ll be back in ten minutes tops. Veronica doesn’t move until he leaves the room.

When this happens, she immediately goes to the bathroom and throws some cold water to her face. Staring at the mirror, she sees herself, but this is all _wrong_. She’ll pretend to be asleep today when he comes back, but there’s only so much pretending she can do.

 

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thank you so much for the feedback. There have been rumors that this story had only two parts but I can't write anything short so we're going for three. So, yay or nay? Hahaha.
> 
> Maybe no longer a Christmas AU since Christmas has left us twenty days ago, but I hope you're still reading! It's been fun to write this story. Especially to write in Veronica's POV, although this Veronica is really confused lol.
> 
> I hope you all had amazing holidays and that 2019 is your best year yet! I hope to spend it with you guys again! Love you and see you soon!


	3. the road back home

Mid-January, all signs of the Christmas season are gone except for the never-ending snow in upstate New  York. It’s _freezing_ , and the Andrews’s house doesn’t seem to get warm enough, which might explain why _fake Veronica_ has so many pieces of cheap wool and flannel.

Real Veronica spends ninety-percent of her time at Pop’s. It’s just _warmer_ there. She _likes_ working; it’s something that keeps her centered, and she just had the most wonderful idea — turning the space in the basement into a _bar_. After all this time, there’s still only the Whyte Wyrm on the wrong side of the tracks and _Innuendo_ (tragic, as Kevin used to say) — essentially, the adults have nothing to do in that God-forsaken town. Maybe if they had more of a social life, they wouldn’t have as many kids.

“I’m thinking noir. _Prohibition,_ ” she tells Chuck while they walk around the empty space. She had him remove the boxes the other day. There’s still no hint of when and why _fake Veronica_ decided that Chuck Clayton was deserving of a second chance, but ever since Veronica fell into this reality, he’s been nothing but a proper gentleman — she was getting used to his presence around. “Maybe some sort of _casino_ , you know?”

He looks around, hands in his pockets, and the look on his face tells her that he’s trying to work with his imagination.

“I know it needs a renovation, but I guess that it would _really_ help with our profits. I don’t know, spice things up.”

“Yeah, but — I mean, not to rain on your parade, but where would you get the money for that?” Chuck asks. Veronica sighs, her mouth shaping into a pout.

“I’m figuring that out,” she says, even though she’s _not_ figuring it out. It’s still a huge mystery _why_ the business she had steadily run for years didn’t fill her pockets yet. The kids have some college money in a fund, and Archie’s paycheck helps with the bills around the house and things like gas and groceries. Veronica’s profits are mostly used to keep Pop’s up and running, besides paying for loans and absurd things that she can’t understand. “I am sure that having something else running down here would help us grow. We just need a kickstart. An investment.”

“Shouldn’t you run the idea by Pop first?”

“It’s not like he has any say in this.” Veronica shrugs a little. She likes Pop Tate enough, and knows he’s a good man, but more than once she’s caught him disapproving her decisions regarding a lot of subjects. She tilts her head up when Chuck frowns. “I _own_ this place, Clayton. I'm not going to run my ideas by anyone. I only ask out of generosity. If Pop doesn’t like it, we’ll just find another cook.”

 

 

 

 

Veronica leaves Pop’s and follows the routine she’s almost used to: she picks Charlie up at the elementary school, Artie at the daycare. At home, most of the times, Archie is cooking dinner and waiting for them with questions directed to the kids (mercifully, he asks her very little, lately). Thursdays are her favorite day because it’s when he plays his amateur gigs in Centreville or Greendale, and even though Veronica has to put the kids to bed, she still gets one hour or so of blissful solitude before he gets home.

She’s learned to pretend to be asleep before he’s there. It’s easier, this way. No matter what she needs to figure out, she knows she’ll figure out better if she’s not _confused_ and astounded by Archie’s kiss, smell, or touch. 

He has, clearly, noticed that something is off with her. But in true Archie fashion, he hasn’t confronted her, and whatever he’s wiping under the rug is something that _fake Veronica_ will have to deal with. It’s been almost a _month_ — Veronica will have to get back to her real life at some point. 

That Thursday, after putting baby Artie in his crib with blankets and stuffed animals to keep him company, Veronica takes a hot shower while Charlie watches cartoons in the living room. She dresses in one of the horrible, albeit warm, flannel pajamas, and sits on the floor with a glass of red wine as she starts fumbling around a file with a lot of bank documents. She _needs_ to understand the reason why they don’t have any savings that she can use to make her life a little better at work.

Veronica hasn’t drunk anything since the day _before_ this whole mess started, and the cheap wine gets to her head fast. She feels her cheeks warm as she reads the absurd amounts of constant withdrawals from their bank accounts. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters to herself.

The dog starts barking. Veronica rolls her eyes at the sound. There’s the sound of keys and then Charlie’s excited “Daddy!” as she runs to greet Archie at the door.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, little lady?” Veronica hears him ask Charlie when he scoops the little girl in his arms. This time she does rolls her eyes. The kid _can_ sleep past ten or eleven one day in her life. She’s not going to die. “Ronnie? What are you doing on the floor?” He chuckles.

“Getting drunk and reading about our demise,” she answers, lifting the glass of wine. It’s almost empty. It’s also the fourth. “We should be ashamed.”

Charlie, in Archie’s lap, looks oddly at her _Mami_. Archie frowns, signs of amusement on his face. “What are you going on about?”

“This _s-u-c-k-s_ , Archie.” She shows him the bank statements. “How can we have two fucking kids and zero money? How were we so _dumb_?”

The amusement disappears from Archie’s face very quickly. “Ronnie, I think you’ve had enough wine for tonight. You should go to b—”

“Oh, no, no, _no_. You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Veronica feels the anger bubbling up in her stomach. “Are you proud of the shitty life we’re giving to these kids? Because, _really_ —”

“Charlie,” Archie puts her back on the ground. Charlie seems a little frightened with what’s going on. “Go to your room, baby. Mami and I have to talk a little bit.”

“Yes, Charlie, run for the hills.” Veronica rolls her eyes dramatically. No one finds it funny — Charlie goes up the stairs, a pout on her mouth, and Archie stands in the middle of the living room, looking at Veronica like she’s despicable. The judgmental look. Veronica remembers that one very well.

“What the hell is going on with you, Veronica?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “You’re acting like a— drinking, saying bad words in front of Charlie, I can’t—”

Veronica gets up. She’s a little tipsy, but she’s not about to have this fight without facing him. “So, I drank this horrible supermarket wine that the shittiest bar in France would laugh at. So what? Do you have any idea what this life is like?”

“Excuse me?”

“I wake up in the morning and the first thing I have to do is wipe off crap. I drop the kids off, and then I drop _you_ off because we don’t even have two cars. I spend eight hours working in a diner that smells like grease.”

Archie just stands there, staring at her, aghast. Veronica feels the frustration of her words reflected on his face, but she can’t stop.

“I pick up the kids. I walk the dog. I play with the kids. I dress the kids. I say goodnight to the kids… I plaster myself in some cheap Nivea lotion that everyone else uses. Why do _I_ have to drive? Why don’t _you_ drive for a change? I spend my day between this messy house and that slow as hell minivan listening to fucking Roxette because the Bluetooth is broken. And I can’t — I can’t even make plans for _anything_ , because we spent all of our savings! What’s in it for _me_ , Archie?”

He clenches his jaw. “I am sad to hear that our life is such a disappointment to you, Veronica.”

“I can’t believe it’s not a disappointment to _you_!” she half-yells, letting it all out. “Jesus, Archie, I learned how to speak French at seven. I studied in the best private schools in New York. How could you do this to me? How could you let me walk away from my family and lose all the opportunities—”

“You know what, Veronica? You’re right!” Archie raises his voice. The tips of his ears are red, and she knows that she’s awakened his anger somehow. “I’m sorry you chose differently! I’m sorry you chose me and that I couldn’t handle your Mafiosi family with all their blood money! I’m sorry that you had to give away your savings so we could pay for my father’s treatment, and that he died anyway!”

Veronica stops for a moment. The rage bubbling up inside suddenly dissipates, making space to another feeling. Something ugly.

“But don’t you worry about it. I’m gonna find a way to pay for every damn cent.”

She swallows hard, feeling tears prickle at her eyes. Inside her heart, she knows that this isn’t — this isn’t what really happened. What _really_ happened is that Archie gave her father away to the FBI behind her back, and she spent a decade picking up the pieces of the destruction he left behind. “You can’t expect me to always be your perfect wife,” she says, clenching her jaw. She’s not about to give up on her pride.

“Right now, I don’t even know who you are,” he says, sniffling. Veronica realizes that his eyes are wet too. “I’m gonna check on the kids.”

Archie turns around and goes up the stairs without looking back. Veronica falls onto the couch, hiding her face in her hands. _Great_.

 

 

 

 

Veronica wakes up to an empty bed and a headache pounding behind her eyes. Archie is not in the shower like he usually is — his side of the bed is unmade, and she can only guess that he slept somewhere else. 

She notices it's past nine in the morning. Getting up, she _refuses_ to feel guilty, but it’s all under her skin. She takes a hot shower, trying to scrub it away, but it follows her as she gets ready. There’s a snowstorm outside — she can see it from the window. There’s no way she can drive to Pop’s today. Sighing, she hopes that at least the kids aren’t scared.

Veronica goes to Archie’s old room to see if Artie is awake already, if he needs to be changed, but his crib is empty. She feels her heart beat faster — _where is the baby_? Charlie’s bed is also empty, albeit unmade, and Veronica wonders if Archie took off with the kids in the middle of the night. _In a fucking snowstorm_.

 _No_ , that would _not_ be honorable at all. With her heart in her throat, she goes to the living room, and exhales deeply when she notices that Charlie is in her pajamas, watching cartoons and drinking juice. Nevada is laying on the carpet, taking a nap. Veronica feels her muscles relax but soon remembers the scene she caused in front of Charlie yesterday. Her cheeks warm up.

“Good morning,” Veronica starts, very carefully. Charlie doesn’t look like she slept a lot, or like she’s happy to see her _Mami_. “Where are Daddy and Artie?”

“In the garage,” Charlie says in a small voice. “Daddy is playing guitar.”

“Oh, okay.” Veronica bites her lower lip, her guilt turning into pure shame, even though Charlie isn’t judging her, just staring at her curiously with those big brown eyes. “It’s snowing a lot today, so you don’t need to go to school.”

“I know. Daddy told me.”

Veronica nods. She doesn’t really know where to start, or what to say. She wishes she could just run to the office with her new information — she spent all the money they had, trying to save Fred Andrews from his destiny.

( _You have given all you’ve got to this family_. What Mary said on Christmas makes more sense now. She’s a _better person_ in this reality? Is this what she needs to figure out?)

But there’s no running anywhere. Archie has taken the baby to the garage — she can’t remember if there’s _heat_ in the garage, but she doesn’t think Archie is crazy — and she’s trapped in the house with Charlie looking at her like she’s expecting something. So she might as well just… “Do you want to me to paint your nails?”

Charlie shrugs, but her eyes do glimmer a little.

 

 

 

 

They move to the kitchen, where the light is better. Nevada wakes up and keeps them company, running around their legs under the table. Veronica feels like she’s having some sort of _girls’ spa_ , wonders if she should invite Betty. But Charlie’s mouth is still turned downwards, and Veronica doesn’t know if adding a third party to the mix would help make things more fun.

She finds some hot pink nail polish that catches Charlie’s attention and starts painting the little girl’s toes when Nevada runs to the back door. Veronica glances up, apprehensive — she knows it means that Archie is about to be in the kitchen.

And he is, his nose and face red, carrying the guitar in one hand and the baby in the other. Artie looks like a mini-astronaut in his heavy winter clothes. Carefully, Archie sets the guitar down. Veronica is avoiding his eyes but notices that he too is averting looking straight at her.

“I slept in the guest room,” Archie says, suddenly. Veronica opens her mouth and then closes it again. She wasn’t questioning anything. “I’m going to get him out of this coat—” He nods at Artie, who can barely move his arms.

“Okay,” Veronica says, and then feels Charlie’s big eyes on her again. “Listen—” she starts, even though she has no idea what she’ll say.

Archie shakes his head. “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he says. It’s so _simple_. “I didn’t mean to— say the things I did.”

She does look at him, now. He looks tired and profoundly sad. The guilt pulses hard against Veronica’s ribs. “Archie—” she breathes. “You don’t need to apologize. We lost our temp—”

“Still. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. I’m sorry.” Archie maintains his head low. Artie starts to complain in his arms, probably too hot inside his coat now that he’s inside.

“I’m sorry, too,” she mutters. Archie nods, and then leaves the kitchen just a second before Artie starts to _wail_. The sound of his cry gets smaller as they go up the stairs. Veronica feels tears on her eyes again.

It’s only a few seconds later that she realizes that Charlie is still watching her. Her pretty face is overshadowed by a downcast expression, and Veronica doesn’t think that kids are supposed to look like that. “Are you and Daddy getting a divorce?”

“What?” Veronica is caught off guard. “Charlie, _n_ — how do you even know what’s that?”

She shrugs. “Grandma Hermione told me that when moms and dads don’t love each other anymore they get a divorce.”

In any other occasion, Veronica would scoff at that — _of course_ , it had to be her mother — but Charlie just looks way too sad. She can’t really pay attention to anything else. “Every mom and dad fight sometimes, Charlie. It’s normal.”

Her pout grows bigger on her mouth. “My real Mami and Daddy never fight.”

“Oh, _sweetie_.” Veronica heaves out a breath, reaching out a hand to place above Charlie’s. “When your real Mami is back, this will have never happened, okay?”

The little girl just seems _so small_ , so fragile in the middle of her soft raven curls and her half-painted nails. Veronica feels the weirdest thing inside of her, an instinct of _protection_ — she can’t allow Charlie to suffer. She _loves_ this girl. She—

“Come here,” without so much thought Veronica pulls Charlie for an embrace, holding her head against her chest. The girl’s body seems to melt against hers, and a tear escapes from Veronica’s eyes.

“Nothing is going to happen. Your Mami and Daddy will be happy. I promise.”

 

 

 

 

Archie spends his morning with the baby upstairs, while Veronica stays with Charlie on the couch, eating popcorn and watching Disney movies. The girl scoots over closer to her, pressing against the side of her body, and Veronica swings an arm around her and threads her fingers through Charlie’s curls carefully, humming along to the songs in Aladdin.

Aladdin used to be her favorite movie when she was younger. Not only because she identified with Jasmine’s raven hair and darker skin — all the other princesses were so _fair_ — but also because she often felt like that, trapped somewhere, longing to see and feel different things. Archie crashing into her life was sort of what happened with Jasmine and Aladdin — he opened her eyes to so many things, when they were teenagers. He really did show her a _whole new world_.

He comes down around two in the afternoon, asking Charlie what she wants for lunch. She yells “McDonalds!” really fast, making both Archie and Veronica chuckle. Their eyes meet, and Veronica feels like they reach some sort of silent understanding — the snow storm has passed, the salt and plow trucks have cleared the road. There’s no need to stay trapped inside the house any longer.

They dress the kids for the cold, buckle them in the backseat and Archie immediately goes to the driver’s seat. Veronica feels her face heat up a bit, remembering one of the topics of their fight last night, and takes the passenger seat without saying a word.

The kids distract them during the forty minute drive to the Centreville Mall, especially Charlie, who keeps singing the Aladdin songs she listened to earlier. Artie just babbles and screams along as he chews on some of his teething toys. Charlie’s favorite song is the one the Genie sings in the beginning, _Friend Like Me,_ and Artie’s has good game with his clapping skills.

They all get burgers and fries — except for Artie, who eats some fries but has a healthier packed lunch from home — until they’re stuffed. It’s good to have some family time with the children, even if they’re not _her_ children. But they kind of are, too. No one else is taking care of them now, right?

Somehow, focusing their attention on the kids, Archie and Veronica manage not to exchange more words than necessary, but once they’re driving back and the children immediately pass out in the backseat, there’s nothing between them but a whole lot of silence. Veronica looks out the window, chewing on her bottom lip, and she can see Archie’s tired face in her peripheral vision.

She swallows. One thing Veronica Lodge is not, in this world or the other, is a coward. “I’m really sorry for yesterday,” she starts, carefully. Archie adjusts his posture, more alert. “I don’t want to fight with you… I just…”

“I know life has thrown us a few surprises, Ronnie.” Archie exhales, interrupting her. Veronica frowns. “I mean, I never thought I’d be married at eighteen and a dad at twenty-three, but—”

“We were fresh out of college.” Veronica drinks his words, analyzes them. She got pregnant before she could even go to business school, then. That must have been a surprise. “And you started teaching music for the kids.”

“It’s not like I could do anything else being an art major.” Archie chuckles, glancing over at her. Veronica feels her heart beating a little bit faster. “And Pop’s back then was… You know. After the state your dad left Riverdale after his… _plans_ ,” he says, as if the word has a bitter taste in his mouth. Veronica races back through time, remembers something about her father’s projects for the town— that never happened in the _real world_. In the real world, the FBI almost caught Hiram, thanks to Archie, and they moved back to New York. “Remember when we were living in that small condo?” he reminisces — the words _small condo_ make Veronica flinch, but the look on his face is full of sheer joy. “Those were the best times.”

“We were young,” she guesses, smiling a little too — almost missing something that she never got to experience. “But then…”

“You know it was too cramped when Artie showed up,” Archie nods to the backseat, where the kids are sleeping soundly. “At least we never asked for anyone’s help.”

“Not even when your dad got sick,” she tries, knowing this will be a sensitive topic. A shadow immediately hovers over his face. Veronica heaves out a breath. “I didn’t mean what I— I would’ve helped Fred a thousand times over, Archie.”

Archie’s mouth shapes into something that could be a smile, or a pout. “I know, babe,” he says, reaching out for her hand on her lap. Veronica intertwines her fingers with his, and as it usually happens anytime they touch, feels her eyes well up. They stay quiet for a long moment, Veronica trying to memorize the feel of his hand in hers.

When Archie turns on the radio, the song playing is _It Must Have Been Love_. He laughs. “We’re gonna fix the Bluetooth.”

She ends up laughing too.

 

 

 

 

As the days go by, the snow slowly melts away in the Andrews’s front yard and, perhaps, in Veronica’s heart.

She drops Archie and Charlie at elementary school in the morning, kisses him back when he leans over, just a peck everyday. She goes to Pop’s and knows that her plans for the _speakeasy_ will need to wait, but starts sketching the idea in a notebook, trying to visualize something she can show to a potential investor. She picks Charlie up from elementary school, Artie from daycare. At home, most of the time, Archie is cooking dinner and waiting for them, but ever since the drive back from the mall, he asks _her_ questions too, touches her a lot more.

When they’re alone, they turn on the TV they have in their bedroom and talk. Not about the past, but about whatever they’re watching, about things happening in the world. About next moves, _finances_ — which often grant her a real headache. She notices that he is trying to reconnect with her without pushing too far. She notices that he is giving her the time and space he thinks she needs.

Late at night, sometimes, Archie pulls her closer in his sleep, buries his face in her neck. Maybe because she promised Charlie that her Mami and Daddy would be happy, she allows him.

On a Thursday, Archie wakes up with his arms around her. He wakes her up with a kiss pressed to the nape of her neck that covers her skin with goosebumps from head to toe. She stands very still, pretending to still be asleep until he leaves to shower. Veronica spends the whole day uneasy, waiting for her mind to stop replaying that moment over and over again, but it doesn’t.

She picks up the kids, follows her _no-Archie_ Thursday routine, but he’s all that she can think about. The way he holds her hand when they’re watching the news together; the way his thumb always finds a way of caressing the back of her hand or her wrist. The way his face lights up when he smiles. The way he sings in the shower and how amazingly good he smells when he comes out of it, pearls of water on his freckled shoulders.

Around eight, she decides to just _do it_ before she talks herself out of it. Still wearing the same clothes from work, she tosses her hair a little, paints her mouth red, puts coats over the kids’ pajamas and walks with them next doors, towards the Cooper’s house. Betty is only in town for another few days before her permanent move to Los Angeles with Sayid, so it’s kind of a _now or never_ situation.

“V! Hey! Is everything alright?” Betty asks, opening the door for them. Veronica knows she isn’t looking her most put together, but if she spends too much time thinking, she’ll give up on the idea. “Hey, baby!”

“Yes.” Veronica swallows as Betty pays attention to Artie, who’s in Veronica’s arms and instantly throws himself into Betty’s, in true Andrews’s form. “Could you watch the kids for a while? I know it’s a lot to ask and that you probably have plans, but I really—”

“Can we stay, Auntie B?” Charlie smiles brightly.

“They’ve eaten and showered. They’ll fall asleep at any moment now.” Veronica holds Charlie’s hand slightly tighter. “It’s just… Archie has his gig in Greendale, and—”

“Oh, hence the red lips.” Betty raises her eyebrows suggestively. Veronica has never been one to blush, but she feels the heat going up her neck. “Don’t worry, V. Sayid and I are just endlessly packing things. We’ll stay with the kids, and you can pick them up tomorrow morning.”

Veronica reaches out a hand to hold Artie’s tiny one. His chubby fingers curiously go around hers. “You’ll be good to Auntie B, won’t you?” she asks both Artie and Charlie. “Thanks B, I packed a bag.” She hands it to Betty. “There’s milk, medicine, Artie’s pacifier, Charlie’s favorite stuffed animal…”

“Mr. Cubbie!” Charlie announces, excited. Veronica smiles warmly. The little girl always thinks everything is a big adventure.

 

 

 

 

When Veronica is in the Lyft, heading to Greendale with her heart beating in her throat, she thinks that maybe Charlie is right. Maybe everything _is_ a big adventure.

 

 

 

 

The pub in Greendale is packed, and there are people in line. Veronica Lodge has never stood in line outside a club — but she supposes she’s also never left her kids with her best friend so she could come watch a gig from her husband who’s actually her ex-boyfriend. Everyone seems to still be wearing casual clothing, so at least she doesn’t feel displaced in her simple attire of black dress pants and an oversized red cashmere sweater — at least her heels are red too and match. To be honest, she’s better dressed than anyone else, even if nothing has a remarkable label. 

She stands in line outside in the cold for about two minutes, starting to regret her decision, when a tall security guard at the door waves at her general direction. It takes her another solid minute to realize he’s waving at her. “Veronica! Hey! Come!”

“Uh—” she excuses herself, wondering if she _should_ leave the line. And then she remembers that she’s the lead singer’s _wife_. “Hey!” she greets the security guard, having no idea who he is.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here! C’mon, they’ve started fifteen minutes ago!”

He opens the door for her. Apparently, this Veronica Lodge doesn’t stand in lines outside clubs either.

The pub is crowded, and the heat makes her feel a little dizzy. The song is loud, rock’n’roll-ish — Archie’s voice filtering through the speakers in some rendition of Dishwalla’s _Somewhere in the Middle_. The buzz that she’s been feeling in her legs ever since she woke up goes up her entire body, and she steers herself to the bar. If she’s not going to turn around and leave, she’ll need a drink.

“V. Lo, the missing piece!” the bartender, a girl that she’s never seen in her life, greets her like they’re old friends. “Archie had been only singing depressing stuff lately, and you weren’t around. We thought you abandoned him or something!” she screams so Veronica can hear her over the loud music.

“I—” she starts, wanting to say that she hasn’t gone anywhere, but it’s not entirely true. She looks over her shoulder, and above the sea of people she can see him on the stage, so comfortable, _owning_ it like he never did when they were teens and still together. The stage lights hit him, and he’s changed his acoustic guitar for a electric one. Veronica swallows the lump in her throat.

“Take your seat, girl!” The bartender taps the counter. She takes a minute to understand that _her seat_ is actually the counter, where she can see the stage above everyone’s heads. Archie is finishing the last notes of the song, and the crowd is going crazy for him and his bandmates. “Gonna make your favorite!”

Veronica highly doubts that the girl can make a perfect Manhattan with the liquors she has on those shelves, but she really _does_ need a drink. So, she accepts whatever concoction the girl comes up with. It turns out to be an especially delicious Cuba Libre, something that she hasn’t drank in ages. She smiles a little, kind of nostalgic. It used to be her favorite, when she first moved to Riverdale.

“I see everyone is on fire tonight!” Archie says when the song is over. Some girls at the very front scream a little, and Veronica rolls her eyes. “Some more than others!” He laughs, charismatic, that smile that he shot her when they met at Pop’s all those years ago. Between _woos_ and _aaah’s_ , the band starts the tune for another song.

Veronica drinks two Cuba Libres while Archie and the band covers a mix of songs from the Goo Goo Dolls, Switchfoot, and even some of the classics like U2 and Pearl Jam. It’s actually at the end of their amazing performance of _Alive_ that Archie, sweaty and happy, sees her in the background, sitting on the counter.

His eyes light up. Her heart skips a beat. His lips curl upwards, and she can see that he bites his lower lip just a little bit, trying to keep a bigger smile from appearing. Veronica brings a hand to the nape of her neck, feeling it hot under her palm, the spot he kissed this morning burning. Archie says something to the band, who starts playing something else.

“This one is for the lady in red at the bar tonight,” Archie says. Everyone turns their head, noticing her. “My wife! In case anyone had any ideas,” he adds, jokingly. Some people in the crowd laugh. Veronica _would_ feel embarrassed or hide behind her glass, but she can’t take her eyes off Archie. He exchanges his electric guitar for an acoustic one, and follows the band in what she soon recognizes as the cheesiest, stupidest, most beautiful love song she’s ever heard.

 _“They said, I bet they’ll never make it. But just look at us holding on. We’re still together, still going strong. You’re still the one I run to. The one that I belong to. You’re still the one I want for life,”_ he sings, smiling at the crowd, but it’s really _at her_. _“You’re still the one that I love, the only one I dream of. You’re still the one I kiss goodnight…”_

Veronica’s heart hurts, and hurts, and hurts, like it’s being squished, squeezed, and smashed with his voice, with the weight of the words he’s singing. Part of her brain tries to rationalize it, tries to remind her that this isn’t _real_ — that _her and Archie_ do not exist— but they do. Somehow, he’s there. _She’s_ there, and he’s singing that she’s still the one for him.

Truth is, he has always been the only one for her.

 

 

_The cute ones are always married_ , she hears a girl mention to her friend when she’s crossing the crowd once the show is over, trying to get to the stage. Archie and the band have already put their equipment away, and are hanging out on stage, sipping on beer and laughing. They all stop when they notice her getting closer. Archie gives one of them a tap on the shoulder, and jumps off the stage so he can meet her halfway. 

“Hey!” he smiles. Veronica tugs nervously at the sleeves of her sweater. She feels lightheaded, and it has nothing to do with the Cuba Libres. “You’re here.” He comes a step closer to her, biting his lip again.

“I’m here,” she breathes. She’s _nervous_. She’s _scared_. Archie is too much— he’s always been too much. She spent all those years holding it inside of her, and now it’s just bubbling up, starting from the pit of her stomach, all the way up her face.

He comes closer. She doesn’t walk back. He leans down, as if he’s going to kiss her. Veronica places a hand on the middle of his chest, feeling his sweaty T-shirt, kind of dizzy with anticipation, but then he stops. “Who’s with the kids?”

“Betty and Ju— _Sayid_ have them,” she swallows, correcting herself quickly. _Habits_. Through the damp fabric, she can feel his chest rising up and down under her palm.

Archie chuckles, placing a hand on top of hers. “Were you going to say Betty and Jughead?”

Veronica could beat herself up for making such an amateur mistake, but she doesn’t have _time_ for that. She grabs him by the hand, quickly pulling him to a door that leads _somewhere_ (an unused room in the pub, she unconsciously notices, with abandoned tables and old couches). Archie looks surprised with the sudden movement, even a little breathless.

She pushes him against the door they close behind him and looks up. Veronica feels _different_. She feels _hungry_. Her heart is beating so fast inside her chest; she might collapse at any moment. She knows that giving in to this hunger has the power to destroy her, but the awareness is not enough to make her stop.

“Ronnie,” he breathes, probably taken aback by the way she’s looking at him. Whatever he’s going to say, though, gets lost inside her mouth when she finally gathers the courage to kiss him. Kiss him _for real_ , kiss him the way she means to. Archie’s hand slides inside her hair, and their bodies are pressed together. Veronica runs her hands over his chest and neck, feeling the muscles tensing under her hands.

For a moment, it’s like Archie doesn’t know what to do with himself, maybe overwhelmed by her change of heart after more than a month of distance. He glides his hands all over her body, pressing firmly at some parts but leaving others unattended, in sheer desperation to touch everything. Veronica feels his hands, his kiss, the salty taste of his sweat. She wants _more_.

She walks backwards, pulling him with her until her back hits some surface. Archie easily grabs her, placing her on top of the random, dirty table. Veronica opens her legs, pulling his hips closer to hers, and moans, breaking the kiss. Archie kisses his way down her neck, his tongue leaving a burning trace on her skin. Veronica pulls away just a little so she can remove her sweater and toss it somewhere, seeking the feel of him touching her bareskin.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers, taking a second to stare at her bra and her chest. She doesn’t feel like she can be away from him much longer, and pulls him back to kiss him with her open mouth, her eyelids trembling at the sensation of having him near. Veronica doesn’t waste time, finding his jeans’ zipper, ripping a groan from the bottom of his throat once she touches him. He’s _so hard_ for her already, and she knows she’s soaked for him as well. She thinks she could come just with the friction, just with the way he’s kissing her.

Archie’s mouth and teeth go downwards, in the direction of her breasts. He kisses her there, biting one of her nipples over the lacy material of her bra, and Veronica rolls her eyes.

 It doesn’t take much longer for him to push down her pants until her legs are free to open enough to fit his body between them. He pushes her panties aside so he can touch her, and moans when he notices how aroused she is.

“Please, Archie,” Veronica pleas in a hushed voice, even though she’s not quite sure what she’s asking for. All she knows is that she needs him _closer_ , as close as he can be, buried deep inside of her. _“Please.”_

Archie, who is breathing heavily, understands what she wants. He slides inside of her, his fingertips biting into her thighs, and she relishes on the friction, on the _completeness_. She can’t believe that after thirteen years she’s letting herself admit that he’s the one person that can make her feel like this. That makes her feel _whole_.

 

 

 

 

It’s like an explosion — the breaking of a dam. They make love for the first time in thirteen years (for her) in a random room of a Greendale pub, shaking and getting lost in each other’s bodies, and they can’t _stop_. They search for each other immediately when the kids fall asleep; they shower together in the mornings before the kids wake up. Veronica thinks about him all the time, every single minute of her day. His hands and how they fit perfectly on every curve of her body; his mouth and how it makes her tremble wherever he kisses or licks. His body, the muscles and lines she worships and wants above her or beneath her at every possible moment.

Archie is keeping up, but Veronica knows that she’s the one who can’t keep her hands to herself. She’d been _starving_ for him. But everytime they’re together, everytime his hot breath whispers nonsense in her ear, she realizes that it doesn’t matter how _much_ of him she has, she’ll always want more. 

About two weeks after the gig, they’re lying in their bed together in the middle of the night, completely naked. Archie is spent, breathing down her neck as he tries to regain some strength. He plants lazy kisses on her collarbone and neck as she runs her fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp. He starts laughing a little against her, and it makes her frown. “What?”

“I’m exhausted,” he says, his mouth on her skin. “You’re killing me softly." 

She looks down, trying to see his boyish smile. He’s a man now, but some things never change — he’s always been such a cuddler when they were teenagers, and he always looked like a boy who just did something mischievous whenever they were together after having sex. Veronica remembers him then, and can’t believe that she has him now. She touches his face, thumb running over his bottom lip. “Are you complaining?” 

Archie shakes his head, kissing her thumb. “Absolutely not,” he mutters, reaching out to kiss her on the mouth, very slowly. Veronica feels him nibbling on her bottom lip and is about to part them so she can kiss him deeper, when they’re interrupted by a cry. “Is that Arthur?”

The sound becomes familiar when it gets louder. Veronica frowns. “Yeah,” she says, a little worried. During her whole _stay_ in this reality, Artie has never cried during the night, only in the mornings. “Let me go check on him,” she kisses Archie quickly, getting up and putting on her robe. Artie did calm down easier with her than with his dad, and the way he’s screaming will probably wake up the neighbors.

When she gets to the kids room, Charlie — God bless her — is up, tiptoeing to reach Artie’s crib and see what’s going on. She seems like she’s going to fall asleep while standing on her feet at any moment. “Go back to bed, Charlie,” Veronica says, rubbing her back and turning her attention to Artie. “Hey, big boy, what’s wrong?” she asks. Artie is bawling, and his cheeks are redder than usual. Veronica takes him in her arms, and realizes that he’s also warmer than usual. “Shh, don’t cry…”

Veronica rocks him, trying to comfort him, but he won’t stop crying. She feels her throat hurting as she worries more and more. He has a fever — she’s sure of it. But he was _fine_ when she put him in bed before, how did he get sick all of a sudden?

There’s a part of her that wants to wake up Charlie again and ask her what her _Mami_ used to do in a situation like this. Did she give him medicine? Did she take him to the hospital? Did she let Archie handle the situation? But Charlie is soundly asleep, and Veronica doesn’t want to remind her that she’s not supposed to be here. In fact, this is probably her fault. She should’ve dressed him to daycare in something warmer, or given him more orange juice, or—

“It’s probably your teething, right, baby?” Veronica asks, finding something rational to hold on to. She’s surprised to hear her own voice — she sounds just like she feels, _so_ concerned. It’s like she’s feeling Artie’s pain when she has him wailing in her arms. “I know it hurts. I’m gonna do something about it, I promise.”

 _Stop promising them things_ , a foreign voice inside Veronica’s head says. She shakes it off, snuggling Artie closer, and searching for the infant Tylenol they have stored somewhere in the room. “Shh, I know,” she mutters, kissing Artie’s fuzzy auburn hair while she prepares the medicine with one hand only, a skill she didn’t know she had until now.

Artie is short of breath and tired of crying, but _still_ in clear discomfort, when she manages to give him the right dosage. There are big tears on his red cheeks. Veronica kisses them away, her face resting against his, humming some song that comes to her mind until he’s only sniffling, getting calmer.

“What happened?” Archie asks, sitting up in bed, when she comes back to the room, about twenty minutes later. He has his boxers on again and looks concerned when he realizes she’s carrying a sleeping Artie in her arms.

“I think he’s got a fever because of his molars,” Veronica says, laying the baby on their bed, between her and Archie, who immediately starts caressing his head, feeling his temperature. “I gave him Tylenol. If it doesn’t get better tomorrow, I’ll take him to the—”

“He’ll be fine,” Archie assures her, leaning down to kiss Artie’s forehead. Veronica can’t take her eyes away from the little boy. She only does it when she feels Archie’s hand under her chin, lifting her face so she looks at him. “You’re a great mom, did you know that?”

He comes closer, kissing her forehead too. Veronica nods, laying her head on the pillow and scooting closer to Artie. She might be a fraud, but she’s doing her best. Archie’s hand meets hers on top of their baby’s belly, and when their fingers intertwine, she feels like, _somehow_ , everything is going to be okay.

 

 

 

 

January leaves with an arctic breeze. Veronica has all the plans for Pop’s basement renovations sketched out. One of their biggest debts with the bank is going to get solved by the end of February, so they’ll probably have some spare money to maybe work on that, unless they have other priorities.

The first weekend of February, the sun shines in the sky for the first time in weeks. Archie wakes up so excited that he decides they should take a day trip to Manhattan so Charlie can feed the ducks in Central Park and maybe do some ice-skating before the rinks close for the season. 

The moment Archie says the word _Manhattan_ , Veronica has a bad feeling about it. The last time she ever set foot in New York City was the day she disappeared on Christmas, still holding onto her other universe. She tries to come up with an excuse for not going, but both Charlie and Archie look so excited — and Artie looks so cute in his blue outfit, complete with a beanie — that she doesn’t have it in her to say _no_ to them.

“Are we visiting Grandma Hermione and Uncle Andre too?” Charlie asks, excited, when they’re on the road. Veronica can’t hide the panicky look on her face when she glances over at Archie, who snorts.

“If there’s time,” he promises, laughing silently.

 

 

 

 

Maybe she’s been away from the city for too long, but it looks _different_. It feels different. The tall buildings are beautiful, yes, and all the buzz is exciting, but it’s also a little overwhelming. She knows she lived in Manhattan her entire life, but the last couple of months _changed_ her. Riverdale has that power over people. _Archie_ has that power over her. 

They manage to park the minivan near Central Park, getting Artie’s stroller out. Veronica can’t shake the feeling that she shouldn’t be there — she shouldn’t be crossing this line. But, as the day goes by and she stays with Artie as she watches Archie and Charlie skating in the Wollman Rink, the trees and buildings hovering above them, she lets her guard down and allows herself to feel lighter.

 

 

 

 

“Mami! Let’s go feed the ducks!” 

Veronica is pushing Artie’s stroller, Archie’s arm around her waist, and they watch as their little girl runs in front of them, overcome by excitement. Archie warns her not to go too far. They stop at a stand so Archie can buy some water, and Veronica opens her purse to keep the change, when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Veronica Lodge?” a familiar voice calls. Veronica jumps, turning around. Elio Grande — her _assistant_ — is the one talking to her, wearing expensive leather gloves and an overcoat. Veronica holds her breath, but he just smiles brightly. “Wow! I haven’t seen you in—”

“Is everything okay?” Archie interferes, standing by her side. He posessively puts his arm around her waist again, which, in some other moment, would make Veronica roll her eyes over the ridiculous display of jealousy, but right now she can’t seem to think properly.

“Yes,” she breathes. _Concentrate._ “Archie, this is Elio Grande. He used to be—”

“A friend of the Lodge family,” Elio interrupts her. Veronica clenches her jaw. “While they were still doing business, of course. Where have you been?!” He turns his attention to Veronica again. “Haven’t seen you in ages! Are you living in the city?”

“No. We live in Riverdale,” Veronica answers quickly, biting the inside of her mouth. Archie has his eyebrows knitted together, but his hand is less heavy on her waist now. “This is Archie Andrews, my husband, and this is Arthur, our son.” She heaves out a breath. Elio shakes Archie’s hand and takes a look at Artie, who is taking a nap in his stroller. “Our daughter Charlotte is just over there.” She nods with the head towards Charlie’s direction.

“A husband and two kids! Who would’ve thought!” Elio smiles. He probably means it, but Veronica still feels like this is wrong. She shouldn’t have met him. She shouldn’t— “What do you do for a living? I know that Lodge Industries shut down their activities a long time ago…”

“Archie is a teacher, and I run a small business in our town,” Veronica says. Elio nods, maybe mocking, maybe approving of what she just says, and reaches for something inside of his overcoat pocket.

“A small business in a small town. Probably needs some investment, right?” He blinks, charmingly, and hands her a business card. It’s the exact model she used to own, except this one reads _Grande and Associates Investment House._ “It’s not our forte. We usually work with bigger companies, but I could maybe help an old friend. Give me a call if you feel like you need anything.”

When Elio says goodbye to both Archie and Veronica, and she watches him leave with his _Wall Street_ bounce. This coincidence was… Was it a coincidence? Did it mean anything? How did he know she needed an investor for Pop’s?

Archie kisses her on the cheek, bringing her back to the present. “What a douchebag,” he concludes. Veronica chuckles. “C’mon, Mami. Let’s feed the ducks.”

“ _Ew,_ don’t call me _Mami,_ ” she says, laughing. Archie smiles and leans down to kiss her, then, because that’s what happens when anyone _ews_ him.

 

 

 

 

Veronica doesn’t keep Elio’s card. She decides that if she doesn’t believe their chance meeting meant anything, it won’t mean anything, and if she pretends it never happened, even better. Yes, Pop’s needed an investor, but her plans are _solid_. When the time was right, she’d get it done.

 

 

 

 

One day, after school, Charlie gives her a heart-shaped card she cut herself in art class. It’s full of pink glitter and says **_xoxo Charlotte Andrews_** in her cute, childish handwriting. Veronica’s heart is full, and she thanks Charlie by promising a chocolate milkshake when they get home. She now really does know how to make them. 

Charlie gives both Archie and Artie Valentines too. Artie immediately tries to eat his, and Veronica has to wipe glitter off his mouth, which makes him laugh a lot. Archie, thankfully, doesn't try to eat his but instead thanks Charlie with a hug and a lot of kisses on her face. Once the kids fall asleep, though, Veronica finds him sitting on the couch with the paper heart in his hand, looking a little grumpy.

“Why are you pouting?” Veronica asks, sitting next to him, throwing her legs on his lap.

“Can’t believe they’re already teaching Charlie about this stuff,” he says, showing her the card. Veronica looks at him earnestly, trying to hold the laughter inside her. “I mean, she’s _five_. It’s not like she’s going to use this Valentine’s Day _skill_ anytime soon.”

“Well, who knows?” Veronica chuckles, coming a little closer to him. “Maybe there’s a cute kid in elementary school who’s interested in dating Charlie,” she teases. “You know that parents are always the last to know…”

“Oh, God,” Archie throws his head back, “kill me.”

Veronica smiles. She watches his profile for a little bit, the way his neck is stretched out, the bone structure of his face, his thick eyebrows framing his closed eyes. She’s suddenly overcome with emotion. “I’m interested in dating you,” she says, out of nowhere. Archie glances over at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh. We’re married,” he says, a smile on his lips.

“I know.” Veronica reaches out a hand to touch his face. She _knows_ , but she’s missed it. She missed it all, didn’t she? “But we should go on a date. A proper one.” She can’t help but smile. “Get dressed up. Wine and dine. Dance. Look at each other from across the table and think _damn_.”

Archie’s smile gets smaller, softer. Veronica’s heart is melting inside her chest. “Okay. I’ll be your Valentine.”

 

 

 

 

Their date happens a couple of days after Valentine’s Day, when Chuck agrees to watch the kids for the night and it’s easier to get a reservation at a good restaurant. She organizes everything, telling Archie to just wear something nice, pack an overnight bag, and be ready at seven (but not interrupt her if she’s late). 

At seven-thirty, she goes down the stairs of their house to find him waiting. She notices that he took her instructions seriously and has a duffle bag at his feet. He also looks like a dream come true, wearing a navy button up under a gray sports jacket and black denim. She’s already wearing her overcoat, hiding her dress underneath it, but the shine in his eyes when he sees her takes her back to the first time they’d seen each other, all those years ago.

“Can I say _damn_ already?” he asks, approaching her, kissing her lightly on the corner of her lips so he won’t mess up her lipstick. Veronica feels like she could skip the whole plan and just jump him right there.

“Not yet.” She smiles, wiping off lipstick from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go?”

 

 

 

 

She drives. They listen to more of Roxette’s biggest hits, singing along to the lyrics of _Listen to Your Heart_ , Archie’s hand resting on her knee. Veronica drives them to New York, but the directions in the GPS make them turn in New Jersey’s direction this time, and not to Manhattan. Archie looks at her, curious, but she just smiles. 

They stop at Weehawken, next to Hamilton Park, in front of a restaurant called _Molos_. The view of New York is astoundingly beautiful from the pier. Veronica takes Archie’s hand, leading him to the restaurant — which looks like a glass warehouse, full of floor-to-ceiling windows so that they can enjoy the view.

“We have a reservation for two,” she tells the hostess once they’re inside. There’s a fair amount of people dining and talking in low voices. A man is playing the piano while a lady sings, and the food smells incredible. “Veronica Andrews,” Veronica says, almost _giddy_ , when the hostess asks for her name.

Archie helps her off with her coat when they’re directed to their table, revealing the emerald velvet halterneck dress she’s wearing underneath, something she had buried in her closet and that she might have kept for a special occasion, because it didn’t look like it was ever worn before. She feels him holding his breath.

“You look so beautiful,” he says, touching her gently on her half-naked back.

“Thanks, Archiekins.” Veronica turns around, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before the hostess comes to get her coat. Archie’s smile is a little different, maybe a little shy. Veronica doesn’t know how long it’s been since she’s called him that, but for her, it’s been way too long.

The _maître d_ comes to collect the orders. Veronica chose a place in New Jersey because she knew they probably wouldn’t be able to afford any dine-with-a-view in Manhattan, at least not the places she used to go. This one isn’t _that_ expensive, but it’s also not cheap — it’s Greek food, though, so she doesn’t think they can do wrong. Plus, she’s saved some money for this, specific occasion. She’s confident that they can treat themselves a little bit.

“We’ll have the lobster _ravioli_ first, and then the tuna steak with sesame crust and the tenderloin in _madeira_ sauce. Lemon potatoes on the side. And, _oh_ , artichokes! To go with that, mmm…” Veronica says, reading the wine list. “The _Aubert Chardonnay_ seems nice. I know it got some prizes last year. We’ll start with the white for the pasta and see how it goes.”

The _maître d_ looks from her to Archie, seeming impressed. He shrugs, nonchalant. “She’s hungry, and she used to be rich,” he explains.

Veronica can’t help but laugh out loud.

 

 

 

 

The wine comes first, and Veronica tastes it. It’s _exquisite_ , real wine, and it makes her feel in control of a situation for the first time, ever since this _craziness_ started. After the _maître d_ goes, they get to clink their glasses together, looking into each other’s eyes as they take the first sip.

“This is nice,” Archie says, holding her hand over the table. Their wedding bands glimmer with the city lights coming from the windows. “We kind of never did this.”

Veronica strokes his hand with her thumb, drinking a little more. She couldn’t see it before, but she can, now. Choosing to be with Archie, going against her family, working her ass off to make it work and prove everyone wrong. Looking at him now, looking at how _strong_ they are together and how much he believes in their relationship, she understands that they had to fight their way through hell to get there and that they probably didn’t have too much room for proper dates — she knows, from snooping in their photos and documents when she was desperate to find something, that they only eloped, never celebrating their marriage. Maybe they never felt the need for it. 

“Maybe it’s never too late,” she muses. Archie brings her hand to his lips, kissing it. He’s smiling, but it fades a little.

“I was scared,” he confesses. Veronica frowns. “Christmas was… And after that…” he breathes out. Veronica holds his hand tighter, feeling something stir inside her. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore. And if that was the case, I— I don’t think I’d know what to do.” 

It’s so honest, the way he says it. It’s so _Archie_.

She remembers, as if it happened yesterday, the day she broke up with him thirteen years ago. How she found out about the FBI investigation, how she _knew_ that he probably did have something to say, but she didn’t _care_. She was so angry at him. Not only that he tried to screw her dad over, but also that he spent so much time lying and hiding things from her. She remembers him just agreeing with everything she said. She remembers him not fighting back. Maybe _that’s_ why it hurt so much. The way he just _gave up_.

Veronica shakes her head, trying to get out of the past, trying to focus on what’s happening right in front of her. “Sometimes,” she breathes, “I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. I used to be so sure about everything, you know? I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted. Then, that Christmas morning I woke up, and suddenly it was all… Different.” She looks at him, almost desperate for understanding, even though she’s sure she sounds crazy. “I don’t know what happened. I thought I had it all figured out, and it turns out I _really_ don’t,” she says. Her one mission in this life was to figure something out. It’s been _months_ , and she still hasn’t. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was scared, too.”

“I get it.” Archie nods, reassuringly. He stays quiet, hand on hers, but Veronica notices that he’s inside his head for a minute. “I mean, I do get it. Sometimes I think about it too, you know? Would I be better off somewhere else? Did we get married too young? Did I do the right thing by making you choose between me and your family? Did I do the right thing for the kids? _Am I doing the right thing_?” He heaves out a breath. “It’s a never-ending cycle of doubt sometimes. I think about moments when it all went wrong, you know? How can I go back? But then… Then I think about the person I’d be if I hadn’t lived my life with you…” 

“And?”

Archie stops for a moment, considering. “And this person doesn’t exist. I am not myself without you, Ronnie. You’re the one thing that I’ve always been completely sure about in my life, from the moment I saw you to right now. Not having things figured out is okay. It’s human.” He looks into her eyes, probably noticing that she’s been holding back the tears. “But there must be something that you’re completely sure about, and you have to hold onto that.”

The tear escapes from Veronica’s right eye. She quickly dries it, sniffling. “I am completely sure that there is _nowhere_ I’d rather be than here with you.”

Archie smiles a little. It’s a secure, loving smile, and it warms her heart. And then, he smiles some more, almost laughing.

“What?” Veronica asks, smiling back at him.

“Just… _damn_.”

 

 

 

 

After hours of enjoying the food, the wine, and the music, they go back to the minivan, but Veronica only drives for three minutes, stopping in front of a Sheraton hotel that’s almost the restaurant’s neighbor. Archie gets their bags while Veronica checks-in. Their room faces the Hudson River, and the view is as spectacular as the one in the restaurant. 

“This place is huge, _wow._ Look at this bed.” He whistles, taking in the king size bed. Veronica doesn’t care that much for the room. Everything is fairly simple, if she compares it to the five-star hotels she used to stay at, but what’s really worth it is how excited and impressed he seems to be. “Wow.” 

She leans against the opposite wall, watching him as he explores here and there. There’s something going on inside of her, something that she can’t explain— it’s quiet and explosive at the same time. She wants to go to him and rip him off his clothes _so badly_ , but she also just wants to… _hold_ him. Feel his scent. Feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

Archie sits on the edge of the bed, his hair a little rumpled. _Damn_ , Veronica thinks from where she’s standing, and smiles at herself. She walks towards him until their knees touch. Archie’s hands rest on her hips, and his eyes follow the curves of her body. 

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes do, when he looks up at her and they’re shining with want and infatuation. No one has ever looked at her the way he does. Veronica leans down to kiss him, slowly first, tentatively. But then he breathes her in and pulls her closer, making her straddle him, their tongues meeting with desperation.

Archie’s hands press into the flesh of her thighs around him. He grabs her by the hips, trying to pull her even closer. Veronica has her hands in his hair and then on his face. He breaks the kiss, breathless, probably intending to kiss down her neck, but the weird feeling in Veronica’s chest rises. She caresses his face, stroking his hair back, and looks at him.

“Archie,” she says, fingers stroking his swollen lips, her other hand tilting his chin up so he can look at her. The feeling is weird, but it isn’t foreign. She’s felt it before. She felt it when she was fifteen, her soul being ripped apart, half of it staying with this man forever. “All this time… My God. I love you so much,” she says, and just like the first time she said it, under a mistletoe in their porch, it’s the biggest relief she’s ever felt. “I’ve never stopped loving you. I don’t think I’ll ever—”

She stops, overwhelming herself. Archie smiles with the corner of his lips. It’s not a smirk — it’s genuine, full of love, exactly like when he heard it for the first time. It tells her that _he understands_ , he knows, that for her words aren’t so easy, have never been, but that he wants her love, the way she wants to give it to him. “Kiss me, Ronnie.”

She does. She would kiss him forever.

 

 

 

 

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never again say that I'm ending this fic in the next part, but I **promise** that I'm ending this fic in the next part LOL. There's only some of it left, unfortunately, because I loved writing this universe, especially this part here. Full of Varchie romance for those who are starving for it (I was!).
> 
> This part also has almost 11k words so, how the hell did I write so much? I went all out in the romance. Veronica had a change of heart. But can she stay in this universe? Or will she go back?
> 
> Thanks for the nice feedback and let's stick together, Varchies!! Also, my inbox at @andsmile is always open for you.
> 
> Oh, yeah! The song Archie sings to Veronica in the pub is Shania Twain's You're Still The One (sooo cheesy :p)


	4. the open road

A few days after Archie and Veronica’s perfect Valentine’s (not Valentine’s) Day date, Charlie is in one of the booths in an empty Pop’s, in the middle of the afternoon. She’s drawing on the back of some old papers Veronica gave her, using Chuck’s pencils while he’s on his break, and Pop is humming a song as he scrubs the grill. Veronica’s sitting across her daughter, working on some bills, when she notices that the little girl stopped coloring her blue sky to examine a smaller piece of paper that was folded between all the others. 

“What’s that, baby?” Veronica takes the paper from Charlie’s hand, and a shudder passes through her body.

It’s a lottery ticket. 

It’s _the_ lottery ticket, the one Veronica was absolutely sure she threw in the trash along with the cigarette pack back in January. The numbers marked are **6\. 14. 18. 48.**

It’s an eerie moment for her. She rips it apart into tiny, tiny pieces. Charlie looks at her with curiosity. “Nothing important,” she explains, getting up and stroking Charlie’s hair. “I’ll be right back.”

She throws the shredded paper in the garbage bin outside and pretends she never found it.

 

 

 

 

Later on that same night, Archie is cooking dinner when he realizes they’re out of salt. Charlie suggests putting sugar in everything. Veronica laughs and kisses both her daughter and Archie, saying that she’ll run to the local store to buy some.

She’s been to this store several times in this reality, and everything is always the same. But today, they changed the salt packages to an aisle in the back, which makes absolutely no sense. Sighing, she picks the cheapest package and directs herself to the cashier.

“That would be two dollars, angel.”

The voice sends a shiver down her spine. She looks up and realizes it’s _Fangs_. He’s wearing the store’s general uniform, like he’s always worked here.

“ _You_!” Veronica says, surprised.

“It’s good to see you, Veronica.” He smiles, as charming as ever. “I take you received my message earlier on?”

Veronica thinks about the lottery ticket Charlie found in the middle of her things. Her stomach hurts. “You’re not sending me back.”

“Look at you, buying a pack of salt so the kids have a nice homemade dinner. All domestic and shit… You really figured some things out, I see.”

“Oh, _no,_ no. Cut the bullshit, _Fangs_. I waited all this time for you to show up when I really wanted, and now that I don’t you just—” Veronica swallows hard, exasperated. “I am _not_ going back, do you understand?”

“But I gotta say, you look incredible. Healthier than ever. I bet you even stopped smoking, haven’t you?”

“You can’t do this.” Veronica ignores him. “You can’t keep coming in and out of people’s lives like this, messing everything up…”

Fangs looks at her differently, then. Almost like he’s full of compassion. The small smile he gives her cuts her open. “C’mon, Veronica.”

She shakes her head, getting two one-dollar bills out of her purse and throwing them on the counter. “I’m going home. Archie and the kids are waiting.”

Veronica walks determinedly towards the exit. She stops, turning around, when she hears Fangs _chuckling_. That son of a bitch is _laughing_. “You know what the word _glimpse_ means, right? A smart, educated _chica_ like you. It’s by nature an impermanent thing.”

“ _Que te cojan,_ Fangs.” Veronica clenches her jaw. “I’m staying.”

 

 

 

 

Back home, Veronica can’t really eat dinner, or pay attention to whatever her family is talking about. _An impermanent thing_. She begged Fangs to go back, and he made her stay. Now, she’s pretty sure that it doesn’t matter what she wants or how much she’ll fight it — this will be over. _This_ , the family dinners, her washing the dishes while Archie stays with the kids a little bit more. Dressing them up for bed, kissing them goodnight, while Archie walks Nevada. Sleeping in Archie’s arms.

She goes on with the routine, thinking that _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , if she follows it through nothing will have to change. But then the kids sleep, Archie comes back from walking the dog, and she can’t seem to really look at him. “It’s cold outside. I’m gonna take a shower,” he says, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead as she sits on the couch, some random movie playing on the television. “You coming to bed?”

“Soon,” she says, taking a deep breath, taking his hand to kiss it. He doesn’t ask anything, just smiles and goes up the stairs. Veronica looks around the house she learned to call home, even with all the mess.

She goes to the backyard for a moment. Nevada comes trotting to greet her, and she kneels down, scratching her ears and neck. “Be a good girl, will you?” she asks. The labrador looks at her like she understands, and lowers her head to lick Veronica’s hands. “I know you will.”

Archie’s still in the shower when she turns off all the lights on the ground floor and goes up the stairs. In the kids room, Veronica approaches the crib first, watching as her little prince sleeps soundly, half his hand inside his mouth.

She kisses Artie on the head, careful not to wake him up. “I love you, baby,” she whispers, brushing his auburn hair away from his forehead and carefully removing his hand from his mouth.

Then, Veronica stands over Charlie’s princess bed, kissing her on the cheek. There’s a pain in her chest, like her heart is being destroyed by an invisible force. Charlie stirs, groggy. “Is it morning?” she asks.

“No, honey. Go back to sleep,” Veronica says, tears running freely down her face. Charlie pulls Mr. Cubbie closer to her, falling back asleep almost immediately, and Veronica suppresses a sob. “Take care of yourself and Daddy, Charlie. I need to go back to the mothership.”

She cries as silently as she can for a few minutes. When she finally gathers the courage to go to her room, Archie has already showered, and he’s in his pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt, watching the evening news. “Hey…” he says and then frowns when he notices that she’s been crying. “Are you okay?”

Veronica nods, wiping the tears off her face again. Archie sits up on the bed when she approaches him. He immediately takes her in his arms, holding her. “I watched this movie. It was really heartbreaking,” she lies, snuggling close to him. She feels her eyes filling up one more time. Archie pulls back a little, staring at her face. “I need you to remember me, Archie. How I am _right now_ , at this very moment. I need you to put that image in your heart and keep it with you, forever.”

“Ronnie…” Archie smiles, affectionately, brushing her hair away from her face. “It was just a movie, babe. It’s not real.”

 _It’s not real._ But it is. It’s so real, his arms around her, his face close to hers. Another tear escapes from her eyelids. “Please, just promise me you’ll do that. You have to promise me, Archie. Because if you don’t remember me, then it’s like it never happened, and I don’t think I could live with that.”

“I promise, Ronnie.” He dries her tears, then plants a kiss on her wet face.

“Promise me again.”

“I promise,” he says with a firmer, reassuring voice. “Come here.” Veronica nods, laying her head on his chest, and he wraps his arms around her, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety. He runs his fingers through her hair, and Veronica breathes in his scent, fighting it. She fights the sleep. She fights the tiredness. She fights herself, but it’s useless.

She falls asleep in his arms.

 

 

 

 

Her cell phone rings incessantly, waking her up. She reaches over Archie’s side of the bed, but there’s no one there. Veronica keeps her eyes closed, ignoring the ringing, praying to God that nothing has changed and that Archie is only downstairs making breakfast. 

But when she opens her eyes, she notices the blue satin pajamas she’s wearing. She looks around, taking in her penthouse, her expensive clothes folded on an ottoman chair. She pushes the duvet away, sitting up on the bed, feeling like her whole body has been beaten.

There are no words for the emptiness that overcomes her. She heaves out a breath, and reaches for the cellphone on her nightstand. It says 11:23AM, and there are about a dozen missed calls from Elio.

The phone starts ringing again while she’s looking at it.

“Veronica, _thank God_!” Elio’s voice comes from the other side of the line. He doesn’t sound like the man she met at Central Park not so long ago – more like her assistant. “I was thinking you got kidnapped or something. Are you already at the airport?!”

 _The airport?_ Veronica frowns, her eyes still getting used to the bright light streaming through the windows of her apartment. “What? What day is today?”

“Did you go out on a bender last night or something? It’s Christmas!” he sounds a little nervous. Veronica is even more confused. _Christmas_? How can it be Christmas? Christmas happened two months ago. “Veronica, are you at the airport? Your flight to France leaves in two hours, and the board is going crazy over here.”

 _France_. It takes her a minute, but it comes back to her: the multi-billion dollar deal she was trying to conquer. The meeting with Mr. Campbell in Chamonix on December 26th. She has a little trouble breathing, like someone has been sitting on chest all of this time. “I’m not at the airport,” she confesses, running a hand down her face. “I’m— Why is the board going crazy?”

“Because they’ve got some information that they need to share with you. Okay, I’ll reschedule your flight for this evening, then— but you got to be here in one hour. They’re calling an emergency meeting. No one could reach you…”

She can’t understand why this _matters_ , but knows it’s pointless to find any signs of her other life in this one. Veronica looks around, feeling defeated and so, _so_ alone in this tastefully decorated space. “I wasn’t here.”

“Come on, everyone is panicking.”

 

 

 

 

Veronica gets ready slowly, but she can’t understand. She can’t _grasp_ it. How the hell did this happen? Was everything only a crazy dream? If she actually _lived_ another life, she wouldn’t have woken up two months before, would she?

She goes robotically through her La Roche Posay moisturizer, doesn’t pay any attention to the expensive fabrics of the Gucci shirt she decides to put on without thinking it through. She can only think about Artie smiling at her every morning. Charlie’s curls framing her cute face. And _Archie_. Archie making breakfast. Archie looking at her like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

“Good morning, Miss Lodge,” Tony, the doorman, greets her like nothing has ever changed. Like he hasn’t treated like garbage the last time they’d seen each other. “Malcolm took your Maserati home earlier on. Do you want me to tell someone to bring it up?”

Veronica thinks about the minivan that only played Roxette songs, the children’s seats in the back. She doesn’t think she’s attentive enough to drive, so she shakes her head. “I’ll just get a Lyft. Thank you, Tony.”

 

 

 

 

The Lyft takes her to Wall Street. The security guard goes out of his way so she can take an elevator all by herself. Once she’s alone, she looks at the mirror, her face mimicking what she’d seen in the Andrews’s house two months ago: a sense of displacement. She spent so much time wanting to come back to this reality, and now…

“Thank God, you’re here!” Elio says once she gets out of the elevator. He hands her a big cup of coffee and starts walking her towards the conference room. Veronica is still reeling from her experience. “Your flight now leaves at six, so we might have time to fix this mess…”

The mess, she learns from one of the board members that is bundled up in the conference room with flow charts and insane amounts of coffee, is because someone found out that Mr. Campbell had been secretly talking to a European company and there’s a rumor that the deal is off the table.

“Word is that Campbell is willing to sell them a minority stake, so he can keep running MedTech entirely. The buyers are _pissed_ with us,” Jeremy, one of the guys on the board, says. He’s Arabic too, and it makes her think about Sayid. She wonders what happened to Betty in this life— if she could be with Jughead. “They say we should’ve been prepared for this and that they might not want to be involved with MedTech anymore. We’re in trouble here, Lodge.”

She listens to every word he says. She observes all the expectant faces, waiting for her input, for her final word. They’re all distraught. They’re all spending their Christmas morning in a conference room. They’re all drinking way more caffeine than they really need.

“What are we going to do, Lodge?” Jeremy asks. But Veronica is lost in her own sadness. She can’t… All of this is so _dumb._ “Lodge?”

He calls again. Veronica seems to snap out of it, the coffee Elio gave her getting colder inside its paper cup. “I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do,” she starts, sighing. “You’re going to do whatever it takes to find out which European is seducing Campbell. Then, I’m going to the airport to spend the rest of my Christmas flying first class, _alone_. I’ll get a private transfer to Chamonix and drink expensive wine with Campbell. His wife and kids will be there, and they’ll probably hate me while I spend the whole day convincing him that the European company is the devil and that we are the sole answers to his prayers.”

Everyone watches her. They look curious, perhaps a little impressed, but it means nothing to Veronica. “Then, I’m going to ski at the Mont Blanc. Alone. I’m going to be in one of the most beautiful places of the world completely and utterly alone. I’m going to do that because this is my life. This is what’s real, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

The board stares at her, slightest shocked. She takes in a deep breath, and leaves the conference room without saying another word. She gave them their instructions. Now, she just wants to feel the excruciating pain that’s taking over.

 

 

 

 

She tries to find Archie’s number on the post-it she threw away the day before, but there’s nothing in the trash bin under her desk. A driver takes her back to the Penthouse so she can get her stuff ready. Veronica packs a small bag, filling it with expensive clothes and exquisite jewellery that mean _nothing_. She presses play on her music app, which is connected to the soundsystem of the penthouse, hoping that some music will make things better. 

It’s still playing the collection of old boleros she’d been listening to when she got ready for work on Christmas Eve.

_bésame, bésame mucho… como se fuera esta noche la ultima vez..._

Her eyes immediately fill with tears. She didn’t even kiss him one last time. She didn’t even say she loved him. And now…

Veronica breaks down crying. Now, she’s lost him. All over again, she lost him.

 

 

 

 

When she manages to regain her strength and re-apply her makeup, it’s already time to go to the airport. Her cell phone is buzzing with messages from the board, telling her all the information they’ve got on the European company so far, but she doesn’t read any of them. She takes her bag downstairs. The driver puts her luggage in the limo’s truck and opens the door for her.

As the car drives down Broadway and she watches the buildings pass by, her phone starts ringing again. She kept it inside the pocket of her coat. She reaches inside to grab it — it’s probably just Elio again — but, instead, realizes that there’s something else there.

The pack of cigarettes.

The lottery ticket. The one she ripped to shreds in her other life. Her heart beats faster — she never _really_ looked at it before, never really inspected it carefully. This could mean something. This could…

She looks at the winning numbers, feeling her heart beating in her throat. Her cell phone stops ringing. Above the line of the numbers, there’s a quote in small letters, something that she hadn’t noticed before: **your destiny is already there. claim it!**

Veronica breathes faster as the car moves. She stares at the ticket and gets her phone. It’s _an absurd_ idea, but what hasn’t been absurd in the last couple of months? With shaking fingers, she types New York’s area code, and follows with the numbers Fangs left behind: **6\. 14. 16. 48.**

**_614-1648._ **

 

 

 

 

Veronica’s limo pulls up outside a building on Williamsburg. There’s a truck parked in front of them, and people going in and out the building, carrying boxes and furniture. Veronica takes advantage of the open door, and then run up the stairs as fast as her Louboutin heels allow.

Outside the apartment, she can hear some rock song blaring — it’s one of the songs Archie’s band used to cover at their gigs in Greendale. She feels breathless. She reaches out to ring the bell, and when the door bursts open, she sees movers carrying boxes.

“Hi!” There’s a young man inside the apartment who notices her. He looks fresh out of college, almost a teen. From the voice, Veronica recognizes him — he’s the _assistant_ that picked up the phone. “Are you from the shipping company?” 

“No,” she says, standing awkwardly at the door while trying not to disturb the movers’ flow. “I’m, uh, Veronica Lodge. I’m an old… friend of Archie’s. I called.”

The young man looks at her again, curious, as if he _knows_ that there’s some history there. He seems a little impressed for a second. “ARCH!” he screams, walking back inside the apartment. “Your ex is here!”

There’s a beat of silence and stillness — not even the movers appear. Veronica waits at the door anxiously.

But then, Archie shows up. Her eyes come alive when she sees him. He’s wearing a white T-shirt under a flannel shirt and jeans, and his hair is messier than it usually was before. But, except for that, he looks just the same as he did yesterday.

“Archie…” she says amidst a sigh. Archie stops mid step when he sees her. She doesn’t even know what clothes she’s wearing. If she doesn’t look terrible. If she doesn’t look like she cried throughout the whole day.

“Veronica.” His expression is soft. He’s still drinking in the image of her, and Veronica’s heart is about to explode inside her chest. “ _Wow_. It’s been what? Fourteen years?”

“Thirteen.” She bites the inside of her bottom lip, trying not to get overawed with emotion. Thirteen years. Maybe thirteen _hours_. “You look great,” she says, smiling a little.

He looks like her Archiekins. He looks like the love of her life.

“So do you!” He smiles too. “It’s good to see you. Uh.” He scratches the back of his head, and then turns around, walking inside. Veronica follows him, sheepishly. “It’s a bit messy. Eugene! Where is the box?!”

“What’s going on here?” she asks, clutching at her purse, looking around the small apartment. It has an industrial feel, but it’s mostly empty now, except for all the cardboard boxes.

“I’m moving to San Francisco. Damn, it was right here…” he says, searching around. “’Gene! It’s a box marked _VL_. I can’t remember which stack I put it on…”

“San Francisco?”

“Do you want me to look for the box or to call the airline?” Eugene, the _assistant_ , asks Archie with attitude.

“Hey, if you haven’t noticed, kind of under a little pressure here,” Archie answers him, his eyes widening up a bit.

“ _Hey_ , kind of giving up Christmas day to help you, here.” Eugene rolls his eyes dramatically. Veronica watches as they talk, back and forth. Archie gives him a pointed look. “Fine, I’ll search for it _while_ calling the airline.”

“Sorry about that.” Archie laughs a little. Veronica notices that he’s a little anxious, too. Maybe more than he’d admit. “Eugene is Valerie’s cousin, and he’s sort of my intern…”

“Assistant!” Eugene chimes in. “And was, since I’m staying behind.” Archie shakes his head, still searching around, avoiding looking at her. Veronica would laugh, but the name _Valerie_ makes her clench her jaw instead.

“So, you’re going to the West Coast?” Veronica's legs feel uneasy, watching the way he moves.

“Yeah. I mean, Andrews Construction has an opportunity to expand, and I’m just going along…” He runs a hand through his hair. Veronica can’t take her eyes off him. She remembers falling asleep in his arms only last night. It’s crazy how he can’t stop to look at her, now.

“So, you’re with your dad’s business?” she asks. “You’re not working with music?”

Archie chuckles. “That dream died a long time ago…”

“Did you get married?” Veronica can’t help but blurt out. Archie seems surprised, glancing over at her with a curious expression on his face, but quickly looking away, continuing to search through the boxes.

“Nope. Never happened,” he answers. The way he’s _still_ not looking at her makes her think that maybe she doesn’t need to worry that Val is still in his life. Veronica inhales, her chest filling up with some sort of hope. “You?”

“Not exactly.” Veronica breathes out. Their hands look _weird_ without their wedding bands. She looks around. “Can we take a minute, Archie? Maybe get a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, or something?”

“I’d go for a glass of wine!” Eugene yells from behind a stack of boxes.

“Yes!” Archie says. Veronica almost smiles, relieved, but then realizes that he’s not really referring to her question, once he picks up a sealed box. “I found it!”

“Congrats, man. The La Guardia flight is cancelled, but I got you out of JFK on American at nine-thirty. Am I awesome, or what?”

Archie rolls his eyes. Veronica’s ghost of a smile disappears when Archie hands her the sealed box, which a red VL marked on one of its sides. “These are just… Some things that were in my dad’s home back in Riverdale. Mostly documents and stuff from the FBI investigation,” he says, the tips of his ears a little red. “There’s some confidential stuff about your family. I figured that if I threw it away someone could find it, and I know you’re a big name these days. So… Better to stay away from scandals, right?”

Veronica stands there with the box in her arms. She swallows hard, but it’s impossible to get around the lump in her throat. He hasn’t seen her in over a decade, and he’s still looking after her.

“Archie…” she starts, but doesn’t really know how to go on.

“It’s good to see you, Veronica.” He finally does look at her again, but his eyes don’t linger on hers for too long. “If you’re ever in San Francisco, look me up. Maybe we’ll go for that glass of wine.”

Veronica looks at him, flush with the realization that this isn’t the same Archie she knew thirteen years ago, or the one she left yesterday. She opens her mouth, trying to find something that tells him that _maybe_ isn’t enough, but he’s soon distracted by something Eugene is doing. “No, don’t seal that box. I think my keys are in there!” he says, passing her by as he runs to avoid some imminent tragedy.

Veronica looks at him for just a few more seconds, trying to imprint the image of his face on her brain, before she decides to leave.

 

 

 

 

She instructs the driver to take her back to her house. He warns her that she’ll miss her flight, but she doesn’t care. As they drive back to Park Avenue, Veronica calls Elio.

“I need you to write Mr. Campbell an e-mail,” she says, tired. The sun is setting now, painting the skies with different shades of pink. “Tell him I’m not going to France today. Tell him that I’m not going to disturb him and his family during the holidays. And that if he thinks that the European company has a better proposal than ours, so be it. But if he still wants to make a deal with us, I’ll reach out after New Year’s.”

“Are you sure about this? I don’t think the board will—”

“Elio, please.” Veronica closes her eyes. She doesn’t think _old Veronica_ would ask _please_ , but her tiredness is overtaking her. “Just do what I asked. I’ll deal with the board later.”

 

 

 

 

Back at the penthouse, Veronica sits on the floor of her pristine living room and goes through the box Archie gave her.

It’s mostly just paper, like he said it would be — pictures that the agent he was helping took of her family. She watches the pictures closely, mostly her father’s face. She reads a little about the case they were building against Hiram.

There’s a small notebook too, with notes in Archie’s handwriting, things he observed about her father. Having access to this stuff kind of hurts — but she can see it, now. She understands that he was just trying to protect her, to get her away from a possibly dangerous situation. She understands what could’ve happened, had she believed in him.

There are three things inside the box that catch her attention: a really old, dog-eared copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ , a book she was reading back at sixteen, during lazy afternoons they’d spend together in his bed. A berry lipstick, dry and expired, her favorite shade during sophomore year. And, lastly, something that makes Veronica’s heart sink with pain. The _A &V Forever _necklace Archie gave her on that Christmas morning; the one that she left on his nightstand when they broke up.

Veronica sniffs, a tear dangling from her eye. She opens the locket to find their pictures, one in each half of a heart. She runs her thumb over sixteen-year-old Archie’s photo, lost in her sadness for a moment, and then, she looks over at the clock.

It reads 7:19PM.

 

 

 

 

Snow is falling as Veronica’s Maserati races up to the terminal. She stops suddenly. An airport guard sees her. “Hey, miss! You can’t park here!" 

Veronica ignores him. Let them tow the car, she doesn’t care.

She runs inside the terminal, looking at the board. The American Airlines nine-thirty flight to San Francisco will board in exactly one hour, and all passengers are instructed to go through security and go to gate 8.0 

Veronica sprints towards the departure area, as fast as her heels allow her. This is a _long_ , long shot, but she’ll take it. Her destiny is right there. She just needs to claim it.

She looks through the crowd that’s lining up at security, her heart beating out of her chest. Archie’s red hair is like a beacon — Veronica sees him waiting in line, headphones around his neck. She pushes through the throng of people, drawing some annoyed stares, and finally gets somewhere he’ll be able to notice her.

“Archie!” Veronica calls out.

Archie turns and sees her, a look of puzzlement on his face. It’s visible that it takes him almost half a minute to realize that she’s _really_ there, and that she’s there for him.

“You can’t go!”

Archie shakes his head, and then excuses himself, walking in her direction. “Veronica…” His eyebrows are knitted together. He comes closer to her, his face a little red, probably from embarrassment, since some people are curiously watching the scene. “What are you doing here?”

“Please.” She bites her lower lip. She knows — she _feels_ how flushed and messy she is. She’s completely aware of the desperation in her eyes.

“Veronica,” he says, slightly taken aback. But he’s not only _surprised_ , he’s also really cautious. It’s written on his face that he never thought this would happen. And that he doesn’t think this _should_ happen.

“ _Please_. Let’s just go have that glass of wine. That’s all I’m asking for. I’m sure that we can get you on another flight to San Francisco.”

Archie looks at her, and then takes a deep breath, that he exhales almost as a laugh. “What is this about, Veronica? What do you want from me?” he asks. And, before she can think of answering, he keeps going. “If you feel bad, or guilty and you need some sort of closure… I’m okay.” He goes on, as honest as always, “I called you and gave you those things because I thought it would be the right thing to do. And that seeing you wouldn’t…” He swallows, looking away. She notices how he clenches his jaw. “We don’t need to talk about anything. We don’t need to revisit that time of our lives.”

Veronica just stands there, looking at him with her glistening eyes, unsure of what to say. She wants him to _remember_. She wants him to keep the promise he made her last night. She just wants _him_ , in whatever version, in whatever reality.

“This…” Archie shakes his head, visibly bothered by something. Veronica wonders if it’s by her lack of words. “I gotta go, Ronnie. I’m sorry.”

He turns his back on her without looking back, his shoulders down. But it’s the way that he called her _Ronnie_ that gives her courage not to give up.

“We stayed in your dad’s house!” she says, a look of determination crossing her face.

Archie turns around to her, his face covered in disbelief. It’s hard to see him look at her like this, like he can’t really _take_ the sight of her, but Veronica tilts her chin up and goes on. “We stayed in Riverdale. Can you believe it? We live in your dad’s house, and we have two kids, Charlotte and Arthur,” her voice full of emotion. Archie takes a step towards her. “Maybe three, if we count Nevada, our dog.”

“Ronnie…” Archie’s lips part, half-mortified, half-interested.

“Charlie is the most precious girl. She’s so full of light and so creative, Archie. She’s a little precocious, but that’s only because she always says whatever’s on her mind. She looks so much like me, but when she smiles…” Veronica shakes her head, remembering and fighting back the tears. “And Artie has your hair. He doesn’t say much, but sometimes when you look at him, you know that he’s learning something new. It’s like witnessing a miracle.”

Archie’s expression has shifted. He looks openly curious now, his breath caught in his throat as he allows Veronica to go on. “The house is a mess. Your mom points that out every time she visits.” Veronica chuckles. “And you… You’re a music teacher. For elementary schoolers and some high schoolers.” Archie raises his eyebrows, like that’s something he can see himself doing. “Your paycheck is a disgrace, but you give every single cent to provide for us.”

He swallows hard, silent, letting her continue.

“And we’re in love,” she says, a tear falling from her eye. “After thirteen years together, we’re still _so_ unbelievably, deeply in love…” Veronica takes one step closer to him. And then another, when she notices that he doesn’t walk back, spellbound as he imagines the picture she’s painting. “You play gigs every Thursday. And when I go watch you, you sing to me. You let everyone know how much you love me.”

She wipes off the tears that are falling from her eyes. She thinks, or hopes, that Archie’s eyes are a little bright, too.

“We made a lot of sacrifices and dealt with our share of surprises, but we stayed together. And you see, you’re such a better person than I am.” Veronica smiles tenderly, now just a couple of feet away from him. “And it made me a better person, to be around you. Because I needed you in my life, and I took a long time to figure that out.”

Archie is perfectly still, Veronica’s words echoing in his ears, having _some_ effect on his brain.

“Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe I went to bed one night in December and my brain tricked me. But I swear, Archie, _nothing_ has ever felt more real to me.”

There’s silence. Archie is looking into her eyes now. “And I know that we can both go on with our lives and we’ll probably be fine. But I’ve seen what we can be like _together_ , Archie, and I choose us.”

He opens his mouth, letting out the air he’d been holding in, but he seem can’t to say anything. Veronica can almost feel how hard his heart is beating. She reaches out a hand, very slowly, trying not to startle him when she places her hand on his face, her fingertips barely touching his jaw. “Just a glass of wine. You can always go to the West Coast. Just, please. Not tonight.”

Archie stands there, frozen, staring into her eyes as if he’s searching for some answer. And then, she thinks he finds it, because his whole expression softens. He touches her wrist, the one from the hand she has on his face. It’s nothing close to how he touched her the past couple of months, but it’s _him_. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

“Okay,” he mutters after they’re trapped in their own world for a moment. His lips curl upwards. “Okay, Ronnie.”

She traps his hand in hers for the smallest second, and then lets go, smiling. Veronica wants to throw her arms around Archie. To kiss him endlessly, to touch him. But she’ll take it one day at a time. She will wait for them, however long it takes.

 

 

 

 

Just like a movie, a boy and a girl found their way back.

Just like a movie, snow fell from the skies.

(Just like a movie, it’s just the beginning.)

 

 

 

 

_the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOO! HERE IT IS! The final, short last installment of All The Roads. I KNOW, I KNOW, it's an open ending and you all HATE ME for it, but it was supposed to be like that from the beginning. She needed to open her eyes to her fate, and now they have a chance to start again :')
> 
> I never planned on this fic to be so long (or successful! lol) so there are a lot of things that I didn't delve into, like why aren't Bughead together in the alt. reality, or why Chuck works for Veronica, or what happened to real Archie after they broke up, etc. I know headcanons for these details though, if you want me to, I can write a post in my Tumblr!
> 
> If Veronica really lived her other reality or if it was just a dream? I say, she did. I say Fangs was sort of a guardian angel who wanted her to do better, which is why the lottery ticket actually had the number for Archie's house. It was his plan all along. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely messages, and I know you're not used to an open ending, but this one is special 'cause I can guarantee that they've found their way back to each other eventually. And who knows, maybe one day I can write some follow-up (no promises! Now, I'm heading back to LM).
> 
> LOVE YOU, and don't be depressed about canon!Varchie 'cause soulmates never die.


End file.
